Champions: A Whole New World
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: Boromir has been released from the hospital and it's time for him to start his new life in Campbell. Meanwhile, Legolas and Haldir arrive in the world of Men.
1. Prologue: Welcome Home

Author's Notes: Here we have it, the prologue of the second story in the _Champions_ series. I believed that Boromir's arrival in his new home deserved a story of its own, especially since he would be celebrating his first Christmas in this story. You'll be meeting far more residents of Campbell, and 'seeing' more of the town itself.

On a personal note, I learned this afternoon that my nineteen month old niece Sabrina is now talking! It's just a few words, mainly 'mommy' and 'da,' but she knows Daddy's voice when she talks to him on the phone.

Disclaimer: Boromir of Gondor, Legolas, Haldir, and other such denizens of Middle-earth and/or Valinor do not belong to me. They belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, and to a degree, New Line Cinemas. On the other hand, the denizens of Campbell, North Carolina, especially the Rafferty and Gutierrez families, do belong to me. I have no objection to you borrowing them. . .just ask first and return them to me intact.

Champions: A Whole New World

Prologue: Welcome Home

It was a strange, strange world. Many days previous, he awoke in a strange place of healing, with no memories at all. Since his awakening, he began to learn the languages of this new place. . .very slowly. His understanding was still limited, as he learned only a small number of words. But it kept him occupied while he was awake, and he was at least learning something. At the same time, he was learning about his new companions. There was Kristin, who had been here from the beginning; Kristin's sister Maygun and her boon companion, Aylayna, was at the place of healing nearly every day, almost always accompanied by their hound, whom they called Neeco. While he could understand none of what was actually said, the man currently called 'Mikal' _could_ read facial expressions and body languages. And what he learned was that Maygun was grieving for someone or something. Many times, Mikal saw her with Ronan, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping. Aylayna was also grieving, but not as sharply. She was, however, worried about Maygun (also called Meg), but did not hover. It was becoming evident to Mikal that the two older women were warriors. He did not believe he ever encountered female warriors, but this world was just strange enough for such a thing to be possible. At the very least, they were guardians. . .protectors.

And now, he was leaving with them. While he was not fully recovered, he _was_ strong enough to leave. He was settled in a wheeled chair, attired in loose fitting trousers and a warm top. Neeco was parked at his side, his head resting in Mikal's lap. The man absently stroked the hound, scratching behind his ears ever so often. Much to his surprise, Mikal heard the hound growl. He looked up, nearly groaning as he beheld the reason for Neeco's anger. While Mikal had no issue with the man now approaching. . .after all, he provided Mikal's new clothing. . .the woman was another story entirely. She had a pretty face and intelligent eyes, but she wore a sneer that seemed permanent, rendering her singularly unattractive. In addition, he did not like the way she treated Kristin, Meg and Aylayna. . .as if they were less than she. As ever, her lower lip was curled disdainfully when she looked at Meg and Aylayna, who were now studying papers, as if she smelled something especially foul. Mikal could not imagine what that something would be.

Meg said something and turned to face the newcomers more fully, resting a protective hand on Mikal's shoulder. She was, he quickly came to realize, a very affectionate, demonstrative person. When she came to his chambers over the last several days, she would rest a hand on his forearm or his brow when she first entered, before sitting down beside him. The morning after he first met them, Mikal became aware that something was different about both Meg and Aylayna. . .something was different about Kristin as well. The two guardians seemed calm and determined. Kristin, on the other hand, just seemed. . .she seemed happier. His command of the new language was pitiful, but based on Ronan's motions, Mikal concluded that he would be leaving with the guardians. That was, in all likelihood, also the reason why they spent so much time with him since. Not that he was complaining. Aylayna brought pictures with her, pictures of the children in her family. From what he could gather, they were the children of her brothers and sisters, given that she would gesture to Meg and Kristin, before indicating a small child. Either way, though he knew very little of children, the little ones were beautiful indeed.

Meg said very little when she sat with him. Sometimes, she would bring a book or a pamphlet, which Ronan called a 'mag-a-zeen,' and read to him from them. He understood none of the words, but that mattered not. Even when she was reading, it gave him a focus, other than his injuries, his weakness, and his frustration with his inability to communicate with them. Further, it gave him an opportunity to study her. Usually allowing her younger sister or Aylayna to do the talking, Meg observed others. That made them the same. She behaved in such a manner for her own reasons. . .while he had no other choice. He used hand motions, body language, facial expressions, and tone to figure out what was going on around him. Still, it was common ground for him, and right now, Mikal accepted anything in common, and accepted it gratefully. While she was shorter than Aylayna, she was no less protective of her, and of Kristin. It was not as blatant. . .but for anyone paying attention, it was there.

As for Kristin, she continued her daily visits. Mikal rarely understood anything she said, picking out a word here and there, but she brightened his day with her arrival, sometimes literally. By now, he learned that the object she sometimes held while talking to him contained information about his recovery. Once again, he wished he could learn to read this new language, but he had other things to concern him. Such as the jolt of pain which shot through him now, interrupting his thoughts. A quick glance told him that he was moving, thanks to Meg pushing his chair. The older guardian pulled the blonde woman out of the way, saying something to her rather sharply. She moved, reluctantly, and Mikal looked over his shoulder as Meg smiled sweetly. Kristin and Aylayna followed, Aylayna putting her arm around the young healer's shoulders. A half second after that, Ronan followed as well. So began his new life. . .so began the end of his time in this specific place.

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Dr. Ronan Daly followed the small group as the Rafferty sisters and Detective Elena Gutierrez wheeled Boromir (currently called Michael) to the elevator which would take them to the lobby of the hospital. Kristin just finished her finals, and would be returning with the others for her winter break. She would be back in a month, for the beginning of the new term (with the mini-van he was loaning to them for this trip). He would look forward to that, and in the meantime, he would think seriously about making trips of his own to Campbell when he had a few days off.

It wasn't that Gimli's reincarnation distrusted the three young women who would be looking after Boromir. If that was the case, he would have found a way to keep Boromir here in Raleigh, regardless of what the demi-goddess Pelagia wanted. But after all these eons, all these lives, of searching for Boromir and never finding him. . .Ronan was not about to let him simply walk out of his life. Not that he was walking anywhere right now. Ronan suppressed a smile, remembering the look on his friend's face when Megan Rafferty began wheeling him out of his room. Boromir gripped the sides of the wheelchair, his face tightening with surprise and with pain, but relaxed after a moment.

Now, as they began the descent to the lobby, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself. However, Ronan noticed, his head was twisting this way and that, trying to take in his new surroundings. This was the furthest he had been from his room since he awakened, nearly two weeks earlier. He was taking short walks, around his room first, then up and down the corridor, slowly regaining his strength. Everything was so new to him, and sometimes, Ronan found himself looking at his world through Boromir's eyes. He noticed nearly everything, it seemed. He noticed when Megan's small hands tightened around the handles of his wheelchair, and the tension around her mouth. In all likelihood, Boromir didn't understand the reason for it, but he did know she was afraid of something. Ronan had no way of explaining to his friend that Megan hated being in enclosed spaces. Ronan put his hand on her shoulder, and Boromir smiled at him gratefully. While he was healing quickly, Boromir still could not turn easily without aggravating the wound to his abdomen. . .or his chest.

And even without his memories of Gondor, and his father the Steward, Boromir was still very proud, particularly when it came to dealing with private body functions. He hated people seeing him like that, even those few whom he trusted. Ronan helped, when those times came. He raised a few eyebrows, when people noticed, but Ronan simply explained that 'Michael' reminded him of an old friend, who died many years earlier. He was known for being a bit. . . unusual anyhow, so the explanation was accepted. Besides, the look of absolute gratitude in Boromir's eyes was worth it. Once he was strong enough to walk to the adjoining bathroom, Ronan taught him what he needed to know. . .then stepped back. However, he never went so far that he couldn't catch Boromir when his legs gave out.

Ronan couldn't do anything about his pride. . .he just made things as easy as possible on the poor lad. It seemed that was the most he could do, anyhow. Ever since Boromir's arrival, it seemed like he was doing a lot of things he didn't normally do. Not that Ronan held it against the lad. . .by the Valar, not at all! He was entirely too happy to have Boromir back in his life, after all these ages. But Ronan was brutally honest, with himself, if nothing else. Things were definitely far more complicated now, and it was unlike that would change. Shortly after Boromir was found (and the Campbell girls arrived), the other doctors realized they could do very little for the police. For one thing, Boromir should have died, given the amount of blood he lost. In addition, the report came back on the splinters they dug out of Boromir's body. . .while the information was kicked upstairs, the splinters came from trees not known to the scientific community. His colleagues weren't stupid. They realized that there was something very strange about this patient. . .they also knew what would happen if word got out. The hospital, and Raleigh itself, would turn into a media circus. Their job was to take care of the sick and the injured. To say that they covered things up was an unpleasant way of putting it. They simply. . .didn't share everything they knew. There was a slight difference.

"We'll take care of him. . .I promise," Megan said softly, drawing his attention. Ronan smiled. He knew that. . .more than that, he had absolute faith in all three, after getting to know them. Megan added with a hint of a smile, "And I promise, I'll take very good care of your van as well." Ronan nearly laughed aloud, but controlled his mirth. After they left the hospital, their next stop would be the airport, where they were picking up Megan and Kristin's parents and their cousin Gavin. Their parents, Francis and Ailsa, were returning from a cruise. Gavin flew down to Miami to meet them. It was for that reason that Ronan was loaning his mini-van to them. He generally only used it on his days off, after all. Megan would drive it home, while Elena would follow in her Saturn with Nico. The German Shepherd wouldn't be happy about being separated from his new friend, but Elena needed the company. He wondered if he should suggest to Kristin that she ride with Elena. . .thanks to the interference of their cousin, Megan had things she needed to discuss with their parents. After a moment, however, he decided against it. They would work this out for themselves.

They reached the lobby, much to Boromir's relief, it seemed. Ronan noted with amusement that he was starting to fidget in the wheelchair. The elevator dinged as it opened, and Megan wheeled Boromir out. Ronan would accompany them to the mini-van, now waiting in the front of the building, and help get Boromir inside. . .it was something with which he had a great deal of experience. He informed security that it was there, and one of the guards was in the mini-van, keeping it running and preventing it from being towed. That was Elena's suggestion, and he kicked himself for not thinking of it himself. As she steered Boromir toward the sliding doors, Megan said softly, "I can't begin to thank you for everything you've done over the last few weeks. I know that you're a doctor, and it's your job, but. . .thank you." Ronan merely smiled again and patted her shoulder. He couldn't tell her the real reason why he was doing this for them, for Boromir. She wasn't ready to know the whole truth, and even if she was, she wasn't ready for the fallout. He wished he could tell her that her life was about to get far more complicated. . .but that would lead to more questions that he couldn't answer.

"You can thank me best by takin' good care of this young man," he answered as they reached the van. He knew from Pelagia that the Elf was on his way. . . but it would take Legolas time to figure where Boromir was, and then to reach North Carolina. The night before, he dreamed of his last days of Gimli, those days he spent in Valinor as the constant companion of the prince of Mirkwood. Thanks to those dreams, he remembered Sindarin. It wasn't enough to carry on a conversation. . .but it was enough to get across what he wanted said. Elena slid open the rear passenger door, and Ronan asked Megan, "Might I have a few moments alone wi' him, while you're gettin' his seat ready?" Megan, to her credit, hesitated. . .but after a moment, she smiled and nodded, moving to assist Elena. Kristin, in the meantime, was transferring Megan's bags to the back of the mini-van, and Nico parked himself beside Boromir's wheelchair. Ronan circled around and knelt in front of Boromir, smiling a little at the clothes he was wearing. A far cry from the clothes in which he was found. . .a far cry from his attire during the quest. . .but the sweats he wore would keep him warm and were loose enough not to aggravate his wounds further.

"You understand very little right now, my friend," he murmured in Sindarin, "but the next time we meet, you'll be speaking English beautifully. I have absolute faith in you. So, until we meet again. . .welcome home." Boromir's green eyes lit up, affirming what Ronan believed. Boromir might not remember his name or his past, but he did remember the Sindarin he learned as the eldest son of the Steward. Ronan smiled at him and pressed a tender, platonic kiss to his forehead. _Aragorn_, he thought, _I don't know where you are. . .but I don't think you'd mind me taking your place._

_Welcome home, son of Gondor. Welcome home._


	2. Comings and Goings

Author's Notes: Well, not quite as long of a wait for this new chapter, but longer than I wanted. We won't go into the last few weeks. . .suffice it to say, I'm still learning about my laptop, and leave it at that. In this chapter, we have Legolas and Haldir arriving in the world of Men, Ailsa and Francis Rafferty returning with Gavin, and a peek into what's happening in Campbell. Oh, and 'Janithy' is an actual name, in case anyone is wondering. I didn't make it up.

Chapter One

Comings and Goings

They sat together in the baggage claim section of Raleigh-Durham International Airport, three women in the chairs provided and a man in a wheelchair. The steady clank-clank-clank of the bag conveyer beat out a steady rhythm, both soothing and jarring to those who waited. It reassured, because it wouldn't be moving if the plane hadn't arrived. Or rather, provided further assurance that the plane landed safely. A quick check of the arrival/departure screen when the first arrived at the airport provided them with that initial reassurance. The youngest member of the quartet asked, her voice dangerously close to a whine, "Why aren't they here yet?" Her older sister looked up from her conversation with her partner, the first signs of impatience becoming obvious.

However, she said only, "It takes them a few minutes to disembark, Kristy, you know that. That's assuming Gavin hasn't decided to let the entire plane off first." And knowing their cousin, that was entirely too likely. Detective Megan Rafferty shook her dark hair out of her eyes, adding, "And you know that if Gavin sees a lone woman with even one child, he'll have to get her carry-ons for her. Be patient." To forestall any further arguments with her sister, Megan leaned forward to arrange a blanket around the legs of the man. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He probably was warm enough, but he'd been in the hospital for several weeks, and since this was his first time outside, well. . . She didn't want to take any chances.

"Besides, here they come now," said the final member of the small group, Megan's partner. Detective Elena Gutierrez bit back a smile as Kristin Rafferty perked up immediately. Megan and Elena exchanged a glance as the former rose to her feet carefully, then Elena continued, "Yup, you called it, Meg." A tall, dark-haired man was walking alongside a frazzled young woman: he was carrying a diaper bag and a duffle bag, while she carried a toddler in her arms. The partners exchanged another glance, grinning as they did. Typical Gavin.

As soon as the woman's husband relieved Gavin of his burdens, shaking his hand at the same time, Kristin bolted toward him, shrieking her cousin's name. Elena murmured, "Your mom and dad are right behind him, Meg. You go ahead, I can stay here with Michael." Megan looked at her partner questioningly, and Elena repeated, "It's fine. And you know your mom and dad will wanna make sure you're okay. Besides, you probably should rescue poor Gavin from your sister."

Megan raised her eyebrows, responding, "Gavin's a grown man and a trained Marine. . . he's more than capable of rescuing himself from Kristin." Elena started to answer, but stared at something over Megan's shoulder. The shorter detective looked in the direction of her partner's stare, and shook her head, muttering, "On second thought. . .are you sure you don't mind staying here with Michael?" Kristin had literally glomped Gavin, and now their cousin was struggling to stay upright.

"Go. We'll be fine," Elena answered, giving Megan's shoulder a little nudge. Megan thought briefly about nudging back, but decided it probably wouldn't be the best idea under the circumstances. She smiled reassuringly at Michael, who was watching the proceedings with a great deal of curiosity, as well as some bewilderment. When he smiled back, still looking confused, she squeezed his shoulder, then walked over to the family reunion taking place only a few feet away.

Her parents had persuaded Kristin to release Gavin, and now hugged their youngest between them, giving Megan complete access to their cousin. Not for the first time, Megan mentally observed how handsome her cousin was. Hey, just because they were family didn't mean she couldn't appreciate his good looks! People often didn't believe they were related, because their similarities weren't physical. For one thing, Gavin was several inches taller than Megan, coming in at six feet. For another, his black hair was straight (as opposed to her wavy brown hair), and he had bright blue eyes (hers were hazel, if one wanted to be complimentary). And aside from his height and coloring, he was just very good-looking. Megan? When she was about twelve or thirteen, she overheard a member of her grandmother's circle say of her, 'Well, she's a good student and a good citizen, but she'll never be a beauty, bless her heart.' Her appearance wasn't among her best attributes.

Megan made peace with that years earlier. She was nobody special, and she knew that. She was okay with it. Besides, her main concern right now was with her family. Especially her cousin. To his credit, Gavin actually looked sheepish as she approached him. Well, that was a good sign. At least he understood that she believed she had the right to be annoyed with him, even if he didn't necessarily agree. As she reached him, Gavin pulled her into his arms, hugging her fiercely. He whispered, "We need to talk." Megan froze briefly. . . Gavin's timing sucked, as ever. . .then returned his embrace. Gavin was Gavin. To expect anything else, well. . .it just didn't happen.

But as she pulled back, she said softly, "You're right. We do." Nothing more was said, though Gavin looked even more sheepish than he had. Hmm. The last time she saw that particular look on his face, Dad had chewed him out for. . .something. She couldn't remember exactly what he did to draw Dad's wrath, but that was the last time she saw that expression on his face. However, she said nothing more as she turned to her parents. Her mother was on the verge of saying something, but Dad got there first, pulling her into his arms for an equally fierce hug.

"How's my girl?" he whispered, holding her tightly. Megan blinked back tears. She hadn't realized until he said it, just how much she missed him. It really was true. . .no matter how old you were, you were still the child of your parents. Megan was thirty-two now, but she was still her father's little girl, and always would be. She didn't answer at first, just tightened her arms around him. And words proved to be unnecessary, as her father added softly, "You'll forgive Gavin. You always do." That provoked a laugh from her, as Francis Rafferty drew back to look at her. He cupped her face in his hands, adding with an affectionate smile, "There. I missed you, princess."

"Daddy! I thought I was your princess!" Kristin pouted, tucked against their mother's side. Francis and Megan exchanged a look, then their father laughed softly, kissing the top of Megan's head. Kristin gave a mock-stamp of her foot, completing the picture. Megan thought she was trying to look like a ten year old, rather than a college student. It wasn't working especially well. Unless, of course, she was trying to make them laugh. In which case, she was succeeding beyond her wildest dreams.

"No, baby," Francis answered, keeping his arm around Megan's shoulders, "You're my angel. Meg's my princess." The detective smirked at her sister as her right hand came up to cover her father's hand at her shoulder. Kristin just stuck out her tongue, and their father warned as the family walked back to Elena, "Enough of that, Kristin Drusilla, you're not ten years old anymore. Hola, Elena. . .thanks for coming to meet us, and. . . Who is this young man?" There was a strange note in her father's voice and Megan raised her head to look at him. He was staring at Michael, almost as if he recognized him. Michael, for his part, looked interested, but that was all.

"This is Michael. . .and it's a very long story. And you don't have to thank me for anything, Tio. You know that. Tia," Elena added, smiling at Megan's mother. Ailsa Rafferty beamed at her and hugged her tightly. Elena returned the embrace, adding, "So, you're still in one piece, Gavin. . .Megan told me that you could rescue yourself from Kristin." The girl in question glared at Elena, who continued, "I really wouldn't advise hitting me, chica. Remember, I _am_ a police officer."

"I look forward to hearing the story in full. . .Elena, could you schedule an evening when you can have dinner with us? Maybe in a week or so, since Kristin is on her winter break. And Michael. . .poor thing. He looks like he could use some good home-cooking, too," Megan's mother answered. As she thought. . .Mom just met Michael, and she was already mothering him. His smile remained bright but bemused, as if he wasn't entirely certain what was going on. Mom added after a moment, "Megan? Sweetheart. . .he doesn't speak English, does he?"

"Not a word of English, and he has no memory of his past. He doesn't know his name, where he came from. That's part of why we brought him with us. And Elena chose the name 'Michael' for him," Megan admitted. There was, of course, a lot more to it than that, but for now, it would serve as an explanation. To Michael, she said, pointing to each parent, "Mother. . .father." And then she indicated herself and Kristin. His face lit up with that smile she was already coming to appreciate.

"Mother. . .father. Meg, Kristin. Daughters?" Michael asked, inclining his head ever so slightly to the right, questioning if he had the right word. Megan nodded, smiling. He was learning so fast. While his face was an especially interesting shade of green during the first few minutes of the drive from the hospital to the airport, Kristin quickly distracted him by pointing out various things, such as trees and stop signs. For now, it was their best chance at teaching him English. Besides, none of them wanted to clean up a mess in Dr. Daly's van.

"Yes. . .Kristin and I are their daughters," she confirmed, still beaming at him. She turned her attention back to the newest arrivals, explaining, "We're teaching him English, one word at a time. In the beginning, it distracted him from his pain, and he desperately needed that focus." Now Gavin joined them. . .like the rest of the family, he kept a respectable distance from Michael, to avoid overwhelming him. And like her dad, he wore a puzzled expression, as if he recognized Michael. Megan thought, briefly, about asking them about it, then decided not to. Way too much going on right now.

"Let me check at the library. . .some of my friends may know of a software program to help him with the language," Mom offered. Meg smiled gratefully, and her mother continued, "And how was he injured? He's still healing, I see, but what landed him in the hospital in the first place?" Before Megan could answer, the first of the luggage began circling around on the conveyer, and Mom added, "I hope they didn't lose our luggage this time." Megan cringed at the memory of that particular trip.

"Not to worry, my love, I'll keep an eye on the luggage. Gavin, keep an eye on our womenfolk. Michael is a bit limited in what he can do," Dad put in. He kissed the top of his elder daughter's head, then repeated the gesture with Kristin, adding, "I'll be back in a few minutes, girls. No catfights in the meantime. . .Elena, you'll keep my princess and my angel of mercy from scratching or hair-pulling, won't you?" It was an old joke, and Megan rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. Kristin stuck out her lower lip. If she kept this up, Megan might make her ride with Elena on the way home.

Elena laughed, replying, "Not a problem, Tio. They're too worried about putting Michael in the middle. I'm beginning to understand why you want Megan married and with a child, Tia. . .she has quite the maternal streak." Megan glared at her best friend, and Elena just smirked. The shorter detective decided it would be better to just give up. There was no way she would win this particular battle. Besides. . Megan found that sometimes, the best revenge was doing absolutely nothing.

And Mom replied, "She always has. . .and the last I heard, you realized that as well. Of course, I've always thought you had quite the maternal streak as well, Elena." Heh. Just like she was saying. Her partner looked more than a little embarrassed. Mom continued, "Now, can you at least give me some basics? I realize Michael is the young man who drew you and Elena to Raleigh in the first place, but I also realize that it's hardly protocol to bring him home with you."

"There were extenuating circumstances, Tia," Elena replied, "including a damn Yankee of a cop named 'Christine Madsen.' And something Señora Sayre apparently said to Megan at some point, about your late father." Megan noticed her mother's eyes dim a little bit, at the mention of Craig McFarlane. But she also noticed that Mom looked curious. Elena noticed as well, and elaborated, "Apparently, she told Megan that your father took the actions he did, because it needed to be done. And, your first-born decided that Michael coming back with us needed to be done."

Mom smiled at Megan, reaching over to squeeze her hand, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, asking, "And where did the 'Michael' come from? I know you entirely too well to think that was an accident, Elena. . .you do everything for a reason." Heh. Megan wanted to laugh at her best friend's chagrined expression. Her mother was sooo good at doing things like that.

"Well, Michael was the warrior angel. And something about him makes me think that he's a soldier, or a protector of some kind," Elena replied. She paused, looking over her shoulder at Megan's father, and then added, "Especially after what Kristin told us about his first awakening." Megan nodded. Yeah, she knew what Elena meant. Kristin told them a little, and Ronan Daly filled in the rest of the details, including how Michael seemed to want to protect Kristin, thinking that the doctors were trying to harm her.

Mom looked at Michael thoughtfully, and then touched his blond hair gently. He watched her cautiously, and then relaxed as her fingers slid over his hair. Once more, Megan wondered about him. . .did he have a family who was looking for him? Where had he come from? She tried to imagine being in his position. . .in a strange place, not remembering his own name, not knowing the language. And once more, she realized that she and Elena did exactly the right thing, bringing him with them.

"Michael. It does suit him. But you never answered my other question. How was he injured. . .and where did you get the wheelchair?" Mom asked. Ah, yes, the wheelchair. Ronan Daly came to the rescue once more. Megan wondered if he made a habit of helping amnesiac patients in this way, or if Michael was special somehow. While they were in Raleigh, Megan noticed that Ronan was unusually protective of Michael, treating him as if he was a long-missing son. . .or a much younger brother. It was curious, but not suspicious. Ronan was a doctor, after all, and Kristin mentioned that he took her under his wing as well. Maybe he was just one of those people.

"That was the weird part, Mom, and the reason I asked Megan and Elena to come to Raleigh in the first place," Kristin replied, answering for the two detectives, "Michael was found in an alley, unconscious and bleeding, apparently the victim of a shooting. Well, he was shot. . .but not with a gun. The wounds were actually consistent with arrows. Most likely crossbow arrows."

"That's. . .unexpected. I wouldn't have thought there'd be a lot of crossbow-wielding maniacs in Raleigh," observed Gavin, speaking for the first time. His bright eyes were focused mainly on Michael, and he continued, "I take it that his condition was life-threatening?" Megan and Kristin both looked at their cousin, then at each other. Gavin noticed and said a bit defensively, "What? It's a perfectly legitimate question to ask, especially since the man's in a wheelchair."

"It's a perfectly legitimate question," Megan agreed reasonably. It was just unusual for her cousin. Then again, Gavin was acting strangely, period. He was looking at Michael rather intently. Not in the curious, sad way her mother was looking at him, but. . . Megan wasn't sure. She also wasn't sure if it disturbed her or not. Rather than mention it, she continued, "In any event, from what Kristin and Ronan. . .Ronan Daly, Kris can tell y'all more about him. . .from what they told us, he was in pretty bad shape. He should have died. . .but he's alive, and on the mend."

She looked at him again, at the green eyes absorbing everything about his surroundings. The childlike wonder on his handsome face as he looked around at the baggage claim of the airport. To her, it was just the baggage claim, just the airport. But to him? She didn't know what he was seeing, exactly, but she did know his expression looked familiar. She saw it on the faces of children, when they saw something brand new and special. And without realizing she was doing it, Megan opened herself up to a whole new world. . .by looking through Michael's eyes at her own world.

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Just when he thought he knew just how strange his new home was. . .he received a surprise. Sometimes an unwelcome one (such as when he left the hospital in that strange horseless cart with Meg and Kristin). . .and sometimes. . .sometimes, he wasn't entirely certain whether it was welcome or not. This was the case in his current surroundings. They arrived at this building nearly an hour ago, passing an odd sculpture that looked somewhat like a bird, but not entirely. Meg settled the horseless cart in front of a great pillar. There were a few moments of animated discussion between the three women, then Mikal was helped from the cart, leaning heavily on Kristin, and into the wheeled chair given to them by Ronan before they left the building of the healers (Ronan called it a 'hos-bi-tal.' He thought. Maybe he meant something else).

Once he was settled, Meg put down the footrests, and Mikal relaxed once more. The air smelled different here. He wasn't sure if it was bad or good, just that it was different. As they passed yet another pillar, Mikal was stunned to see. . .he wasn't entirely sure what it was. People seemed to be standing still. . .but they were moving! Aylayna and Kristin stepped to one side, while Meg steered him to the other, and Mikal was further shocked to see them standing still. . .and moving. Meg continued to wheel him along, exchanging what he could only assume to be good- natured insults with her younger sister and Aylayna. But the greatest surprise was yet to come. As they approached what Mikal believed to be a pair of clear doors. . .they opened. Mikal blinked. No one touched the doors. . .they opened. On their own. He had seen many extraordinary things since awakening. The small box with people inside (the teevee it was called, he was told), that loud and infernal device, the telle-fone. The rainbow wheel which played music (a CeeDee) and the music box which held it (a CeeDee player). However, this was the most stunning of all.

A quick glance over his shoulder and to his left assured Mikal that none of the young women were particularly surprised by the door opening. Meg smiled at him reassuringly, something that happened so often lately that Mikal was starting to think that was her natural expression. If it was, it was certainly preferable to the blonde woman's permanent sneer.

He smiled back, a bit hesitantly, and then turned his head back forward. Inside the building, there was another one of those moving-standing still walkways, as well as room on either side for people to walk normally. Once more, Meg chose the sides, which gave Mikal the chance, however brief, to examine the paintings that covered the wall. They meant absolutely nothing to him, but they were of creeks and the countryside and birds. Something familiar to him, aside from the three women. The other two rejoined Meg and Mikal as they approached another clear door. This time, it didn't surprise Mikal, seeing the doors open of their own accord.

He realized, as soon as they were past those doors, that this was the main building. Before this was. . .a courtyard, for lack of a better word. The three began talking, and while Mikal tried to catch a word or two, to figure out what was happening now, they were talking entirely too fast. And even after they started moving, he still wasn't entirely sure what was happening. Aylayna took over control of his wheeled chair. . . Meg headed toward a small room, while Kristin walked over to a series of black boxes, looking similar to teevees. Aylayna followed a little more slowly.

They stood in front of the teevees, searching for something. It seemed to Mikal that there was a form of writing. Evidently, Aylayna and Kristin were seeking information. Meg returned and Kristin spoke to her, waving excitedly at the teevees. Meg nodded, her expression both solemn and relieved. Aylayna headed back to the room which Meg just vacated, and the two sisters waited at the teevees. They spoke very little. Meg seemed tired, and Kristin. . .Kristin seemed worried. He had no idea why that might be, but that was his impression.

After a few minutes, Aylayna emerged and it was Kristin's turn. The two friends remaining with Mikal were also silent, but it was a different sort of silence. Aylayna reached over and touched Meg's hair. While they did not share the same blood (and Mikal had doubts about Meg and Kristin sharing blood), it was obvious to him that the pair loved each other like sisters. It was unnecessary for two people to share blood, or even the same parents, to be siblings.

At the unexpected contact, Meg looked up, startled, then smiled. She still looked tired. Perhaps she hadn't been sleeping well. Things were quite chaotic as they prepared to leave the healing building this morning, even before the blonde woman arrived. And Mikal was coming to realize that the girls and Ronan went through a great deal of trouble, to get him released into their care. Ronan. That was something else. The very last thing the healer said to him. . .Mikal understood every word. He couldn't remember the name of the language he spoke, but he understood it. And. . .what had he said? The next time they met. . .that Mikal would be speaking. . .English? Yes. Yes, that was what he said. That was the name of the language spoken by the people here. While it was very little, over all, Mikal knew something he hadn't, and that made a huge difference to him.

There was something else. . .Ronan spoke as if he knew Mikal. Welcome home, he had said. That would explain a great deal. . .the way Ronan behaved toward him; the protectiveness, tenderness even. Ronan oft behaved as if Mikal was his younger brother, the same Mikal. . . Whatever that memory held, it slipped away before Mikal could explore it further. The trouble with his theory was, if Ronan knew whom Mikal truly was, why did he say nothing? At least, until the end.

He had no further time to contemplate this, for Kristin returned, and they began walking once more. Mikal wished, with all of his heart, that he could understand more of this English, and not simply a few words. Why were they here? What, exactly, was here? Or, more appropriately, perhaps, where was here? That was the single greatest question for him to answer, was it not? Or perhaps not, given that he had no idea from whence he came. This was his new home, for weal or for woe.

They passed stands with food and drink, and Mikal even saw a rather large box with what appeared to be flowers inside. At last, they reached what seemed to be a small waiting area, and sat down in chairs provided. Meg and Aylayna began talking softly, and Kristin asked a question. Even Mikal recognized the beginnings of a whine in her voice, so he was quite surprised when her older sister responded only with an annoyed look. Rather, Meg rearranged the blanket over Mikal's legs. For all that she was a warrior, a protector, there was a gentleness to her, almost a mothering quality to her. He supposed that one did not necessarily preclude the other, but. . .it was strange to him, in some ways.

Shortly thereafter, Mikal discovered why they were here. A somewhat older couple, perhaps twenty years older than himself, approached the trio, accompanied by a man of about his own age. Mikal actually noticed him, even before Kristin flew into his arms, because he was helping an obviously exhausted young woman with a small child. He was, as Mikal already noted, around his own age. Where Mikal had blond hair and green eyes (as he knew from observing a mirror while Ronan groomed him), this man had black hair and bright blue eyes.

And he was staring at Mikal with the strangest expression. The newcomer wondered if this man also knew him. However, as Meg went forth to greet the trio, stepping into the arms of the older man, Elena directed his attention to the older couple, then indicated Meg and Kristin, saying, "Maygun. Kristin. Mother. Father." It took her a few times, then Mikal understood. Meg and Kristin were here to meet their parents! Mikal grinned up at Aylayna, who smiled back, then nodded toward the black-haired man. She said softly, "Brother-father." Brother. . .father. . .brother-son? The man was Meg and Kristin's cousin! Now he understood!

However, that still did not explain why the man was staring at him as if he somehow knew Mikal. And things became stranger yet again (though by now, Mikal was becoming accustomed to that), Meg's father, who now approached, with an arm draped around the shoulders of his elder daughter, was looking at him with a very similar expression. With a weary sigh, Mikal sat back in his wheeled chair. Just when he thought he was becoming accustomed to strange things. . .

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There were times when she really hated flying. Or, maybe not flying, per se. She didn't mind flying itself. On the other hand, she definitely hated screaming children, the parents of the aforementioned screaming children, and turbulence. With babies and very small children, she could forgive the screaming. The change in air pressure hurt their little ears, and you cried when something hurt. Bad manners, on the other hand, was another story entirely. She and her husband would have _never_ taken their girls out in public if they behaved like screaming heathens.

And being stuck in her seat for several hours, of course, topped the list of things she hated about flying. Well, yes, she could get up and use the lavatory, but that wasn't recommended during turbulence. It wasn't as bad, flying from Miami to Raleigh, but longer flights were extremely uncomfortable. The food varied, from airline to airline. She had some in-flight meals that were wonderful and some that, to use her daughters' terminology, sucked rocks. The movies were of the same hit/miss variety as the meals.

She also missed sleeping in her own bed. It seemed that the older she became, the more comfortable her own bed was. Traveling was fun. That was true when she was a girl, accompanying her parents back to Oklahoma, and it was true now. However, sleeping in her own bed was also fun. Especially now that their girls were out in their own. Having the house to themselves gave them a freedom that balanced out the empty nest syndrome. And speaking of her girls (one of her favorite subjects, something she wasn't shy about admitting). . .

Wasn't _this_ an interesting situation? The girls were here at the airport, as they promised the last time they talked, and they weren't alone. A _very_ handsome young man with dark gold hair and green eyes sat in a wheelchair, rubbing the fabric of his blanket between his fingers. The blanket was carefully draped over his lap, something that made her smile. That was her elder daughter's touch, no doubt. Megan most likely had vague memories of Ailsa's daddy in the last months of his life, confined to a wheelchair with a quilt tucked in around his legs.

Her husband had retrieved all of their bags (and the airline didn't lose any this time, thankfully), and his nephew quickly grabbed what he could to help. The young man. . . Michael, Elena called him. . .made a gesture to the bags after watching Gavin and Francis. Gavin hesitated, but Francis put her overnight bag in his lap. Her husband said softly, "He wants to help. We can't take that from him." Evidently, he was right, because Michael smiled up at them and folded his arms around the bag almost protectively. She caught her breath at the sight of his smile. The phrase 'his smile is like the sun coming up' was created for men like Michael, and her own father.

_Oh my. That boy will be quite dangerous_! Still, Campbell could do with his kind of danger. She smirked, thinking about the reaction of some of her neighbors, the first time they saw him. It wouldn't surprise her in the least if some of them encouraged their girls to set their caps for him. Never mind that he was an amnesiac who spoke very little to no English, and thus, had no way to provide for them. He was a great catch. He had quality to spare. And as she learned from her girls, Nico (who was currently waiting outside in Elena's Saturn) liked him. Nico had excellent judgment when it came to humans.

Once everyone (except Megan, who was pushing Michael's wheelchair) had a bag to carry, they began the long walk that would take them back to the parking garage. As they walked, Ailsa Rafferty glanced at Michael every few moments, as she listened to her eldest and Elena explain a little more in depth about the decisions they made about his care. . .and his new home. Ailsa could only shake her head a little, smiling sadly. In the months before her mother's death, Mama often told her how much Megan reminded her of Ailsa's father. How much it hurt that Meggie was only six years old when Craig McFarlane died, really too young to know him.

Hearing about the decision to bring Michael home to Campbell (and Ailsa hoped that their neighbors remembered to pick up the papers, instead of leaving them scattered on the porch). . .that decision proved her mother right, yet again. Ailsa McFarlane Rafferty could only see her father through the eyes of a daughter. . .but even she could see how similar her eldest was to him. Maybe it was fate, since it was her father who suggested Megan's name. Her middle name, at least. She and Francis chose her given name. They would name their daughter 'Megan' and their son 'Dylan.' However, as the McFarlanes cooed over their new granddaughter, her father suggested 'Penelope.'

Their little girl stared up at the world with calm, curious eyes, and perhaps because of that, she reminded Ailsa's father of Odysseus' faithful, patient wife. Ailsa was never one who believed in things like that, but she had to wonder if her father knew something about her daughter that she didn't. It did seem that Megan picked up several character traits of her mythological namesake (assuming, of course, that Penelope was a myth). God knew, she picked up a lot from her grandfather. She inherited a great deal from both parents, but she also received quite a legacy from her maternal grandfather.

Her attitude toward duty was just one of those things, as Ailsa decided, after hearing her daughter explain why she made the decision she did about Michael. _It needed to be done_. How many times had she heard that while she was growing up? That seemed to be her father's answer to so many questions she asked. It needed to be done. Just those five words. When Ailsa asked him why he volunteered after Pearl Harbor, when he didn't lose any friends there, he responded, '_because it needed to be_ _done_.' After he volunteered to help clean up areas hit by Hurricane Donna in the early 1960's, she again asked him, '_why_.' And again, he responded, '_because it needs to be done_.'

While she knew in her heart that her father (and mother) saw everything that went on, if only in spirit, Ailsa wished her father lived long enough to see the kind of women both of his granddaughters became. She wished he lived long enough to see them welcome Kristin to the family, wished he was there when Megan graduated from high school, from college, from the police academy. Her father was not the sort of man who spoke a great deal about his feelings. He wasn't raised that way. But. . .she knew he would have been proud of both granddaughters.

She looked at her daughters. Kristin was now pushing Michael's wheelchair, while Megan paid the Express ticket. Elena was at her side, as ever. After all these years, Ailsa never wondered what those two discussed. Number one, part of it probably dealt with the same things she discussed with her own best friend, Elly Trask. Number two, the other part dealt with their job. (Though she doubted they were talking about Bethany Lawson. Megan's face lacked the pinched expression it wore when she was angry or upset or grieving.) And how much of their conversation dealt with Michael? Such a strange turn of events. She looked at the young man in the wheelchair, who was looking around as if he'd never seen an airport before. And who knew? Maybe this was his first time seeing an airport, though that begged the question of how he got into the country.

Or maybe not. There were other ways to travel, after all. Still, she had to wonder. What did he see, when he looked around him? How did the sights and the sounds of an airport, which were so commonplace to her, affect him? Right now, there was no distaste in his expression, only bewilderment, curiosity, and wonder. He reminded her a bit of a child, just learning about his world. . .but this was no child. Behind the curiosity and wonder, Ailsa could see something else. This was a young man haunted by something he couldn't even remember. What a horrifying feeling that must be.

How could her daughters have left this young man in Raleigh? They couldn't have. The coming months would be trying for them all. Much as Ailsa hassled her older daughter about giving her grandchildren, this wasn't exactly what Ailsa meant. Megan might not realize it yet, but in some ways, she was now a mother, to a man a few years older than herself. They knew nothing of his past, and so they would have to teach him what he needed to know, to have a future. Ailsa and Francis would help with that.

In fact. . . A plan began to form in Ailsa's mind. Christmas was coming up soon, after all, and she still had to have a little talk with her first-born about that little matter of keeping Bethany Lawson's murder a secret from them. Yes, yes, she understood that Megan had no desire to ruin their vacation (a vacation she helped to pay for), but even so. She was Megan's mother, she should have known about this. She should have known, should have been able to support her daughter in some way. And apparently, her daughter's instincts told her that there was no point in telling them about the torture and murder of Bethany Lawson, a sweet, lovely young girl who happened to resemble their younger daughter closely? _More to the point_, Ailsa reflected as they headed into the parking garage, _that her mother would have a mental meltdown, and that her father would tear Dalton Robeson to shreds once they found out_. And she was right.

But Ailsa still had to give her a hard time about it. It was expected. . .she was Megan's mother.

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He enjoyed traveling. . .but spending two weeks within the shuttle was _not _natural to an Elf. When he and Gimli took the last ship to Valinor, ages ago, it was a ship. . .not a shuttle. This was more like taking the Paths of the Dead, without the Dead. He allowed himself a small smile, remembering Gimli's reaction to that particular part of their journey. Yet, the rivalry/friendly competition between the Elf and the dwarf was what pushed Gimli forward at times. Legolas had no doubt that if the Gimli reincarnation in this lifetime found Boromir first, the Elf would be hearing about it.

Well, they would just see about _that_. This was only one reason (of many) he was impatient to get his search started. Haldir did his best to keep Legolas focused, but the prince's impatience remained. He wanted to get to Vancouver, he wanted to contact Gabriel, and he wanted to find Boromir. While he was tempted to say, 'in no particular order,' the prince knew he had to at least reach his home before they could start searching for Boromir.

He hadn't even gotten started, but already, his impatience was waning, now that he stood on the firm ground once more. Legolas inhaled deeply, smiling at the scent of earth and trees and life. It was somewhat chilly, which was to be expected of British Columbia in December. Since they were along the coast, however, the weather was warmer than it would be further to the east in the Canadian province. Besides, Elves did not feel cold the way humans did. Legolas smiled to himself, remembering the annoyed glances he received from the other members of the Fellowship while they were on cruel Caradhras, and worked very hard at forgetting the other key part of that trek up the mountain. The Ring in the snow, and Boromir's expression as he picked it up.

On the other hand, while he could walk on top of snow, it tended to make other forms of transportation more difficult. Haldir observed as he carried up the last few bundles of supplies from the shuttle, "If I remember correctly, the stables are approximately three kilometers in that direction." Legolas nodded. Yes, he believed the same thing. They timed their arrival to ensure someone would be at the stables. During their last visit, more than three years earlier, they became friends with the owner of the stables, Ethan Cooper. He was, by mortal standards, rather old. . .now in his eighties. . .and grooming his granddaughter Vanessa to take his place.

Legolas rather hoped that Ethan was at the stables, rather than his eighteen year old granddaughter. Vanessa was somewhat. . . infatuated. . .with him. Flattering as he found it, the Elf prince really had no desire to spend the next few weeks avoiding the girl or trying to avoid hurting her feelings. Boromir came first. Haldir observed softly, "We should get started. . .the sun is high in the sky. We stand a better chance at reaching the Cooper Stables before the proprietor's granddaughter returns from school." Legolas glared at his friend, and Haldir simply grinned. The MarchWarden took an inordinate amount of delight in Vanessa Cooper's infatuation with Legolas.. More to the point, he took great pleasure in teasing the prince about the aforementioned crush.

However, Legolas ignored him this time and replied, "I agree. We should reach the stables within an hour or two. If we can reach my home by nightfall, we can begin our search. I imagine you would prefer to contact Gabriel?" This was said with a sweet smile, as Legolas continued, "You do seem to find it easier to operate my Rolodex than my computer." Now it was Haldir's turn to glare. Aside from the shuttle, he had little use for machines. . .largely because he found it difficult to operate them.

"I will contact Gabriel. Do you know where you will begin your search on the internet?" his companion asked. Legolas didn't answer at first, choosing instead to start in the direction he knew the stables to be. Haldir was accustomed to this, however, and merely kept pace with him. Rather easily, actually. The prince had several possibilities in mind, depending on the search engine. He didn't dare hope for a picture, but if he could get the search narrowed down to mysterious appearances, that would cut down the area they had to check. At the same time, he would send emails to the other reincarnates who had their Middle-earth memories back. . .just in case Boromir showed up in Europe or Australia.

According to Haldir, the three women were definitely of the West. Lady Galadriel confirmed this, adding that she believed they were on the North American continent. A second scrying revealed that all three women spoke fluent English. However, the Lady of the Wood was unfamiliar with the accents of the English language, so she couldn't further their knowledge in that respect. It was possible they were in Europe, Australia or New Zealand, but since Legolas had his headquarters in the Pacific Northwest, they would start there.

At last, he replied, "I have a few options open to me. My main concern is making the search narrow enough, so we have fewer false leads. If I can get a search engine that will give me articles rather than websites, that will be helpful." Haldir was nodding, though Legolas was quite certain he understood only a fraction of what was meant. His companion could turn a computer on and off, and that was nearly the extent of his knowledge. If Legolas wished to have a 'computer geek' conversation, he would speak with the Peredhel twins. . .or their mother. Haldir was his traveling companion.

The MarchWarden said at last, "And I will see what I may learn from Gabriel. He may know of things not found in newspapers or on the internet." Legolas inclined his head. That was a possibility, of course. As a first responder, Gabriel would have access to medical information. The two Elves were silent for several moments, then Haldir observed, "I am uncertain if I told you before we left. . .when the Lady scryed the second time, Lady Celebrian was with her. She drew sketches of Boromir's guardians."

No, Haldir did _not_ mention that! Until they had an idea of where Boromir was, the sketches would be of little use. . .but he still appreciated the information. The MarchWarden continued, "I have the sketches with me. If you have a facsimile machine at your residence, you might consider sending them to Gabriel." Legolas nodded absently. He would take that into consideration. Haldir added, "And she sketched a picture of Boromir, based on the memories of the twins."

That would also be helpful. While Gabriel was the reincarnation of Grima, most of his memories centered around the last weeks of his life. Thus, he remembered very little about Boromir. He remembered meeting the Gondorian while Boromir was traveling through Rohan to reach Imladris, but little besides that. Once they reached his home, he would scan the sketches, then email them to all of his reincarnated friends.

Haldir, it seemed, had been doing quite a bit of thinking while they were on the shuttle. He observed, "Has Gabriel not told us in the past that he has more than a passing interest in the strange?" That surprised Legolas. He stopped walking and looked at his companion. Seeing that he had the prince's undivided attention, Haldir went on, "I seem to recall that Gabriel has mentioned that his memories of his past life has piqued his interest in what mortals call the supernatural." Yes, and? What was Haldir trying to tell him? His companion explained, "Think on it, Legolas. What if Boromir appeared in a city? That would be a rather mysterious appearance, would you not think so?"

"Indeed," the prince murmured, "then I will ask if he has heard anything on his mailing list. Gabriel has mentioned that in the past. . .however, he has also said that many of the people he has encountered have been. . ." How had Gabriel phrased it? Unable to recall the exact wording, Legolas compromised by concluding, "Seeking attention. He is rather disenchanted. Still, I will ask him what he has heard among his mailing lists." In truth, Legolas was a bit embarrassed that Haldir remembered something of this magnitude, and he forgot. Unfortunately, he had the uneasy feeling that his companion would use this against him in some way. It was the way things worked between them, in terms of entertainment, when naught else was available.

Ah well. Eventually, it would be Haldir's turn.

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Her wandering detectives were on their way home, and it was about damn time. When Lydia Anders told Megan Rafferty and Elena Gutierrez to take a few days off, she never thought those few days would turn into more than ten days. Still, she couldn't regret it. The pair needed the time off, and needed it badly. Things became even more complicated after they reached Raleigh. The duo rarely asked for help (aside from calling for backup), so it surprised her when she received another phone call from her detectives, a few days after learning about their plan to bring the mysterious Michael home with them.

Rafferty's parents were coming home from their cruise, she learned, along with Rafferty's cousin, on the same day Michael was being released from the hospital. Her girls were nobody's fools. They decided to remain in Raleigh for the extra time, bring Michael home from the hospital and pick up Rafferty's family at the same time. Who could argue with that logic? Certain members of the council, apparently, who protested to the press about the 'vacation' her detectives were taking with 'city' money.

Lydia was immensely grateful she wasn't there during the interview conducted at Lady J's. It was bad enough, nearly spitting out her coffee while reading the story in question. Janithy Stuart, the owner of Lady J's, provided the rest of the story to the cub reporter who conducted the interview. She explained to the youngster that Rafferty and Gutierrez were using their own money, and that they were given the time off because of the Lawson murder. Usually, Lydia didn't have much use for reporters, but in this case, she figured she would make an exception. Although, to be fair, Janithy probably didn't give the kid much of a choice in the matter. She had rather strong opinions, and never hesitated to share them. More than that, if she had certain facts at her disposal, she didn't hesitate to share _those_, either.

She left the reporters to Janithy, since she had greater patience. Lydia had to deal with the consequences within her own department. Here again, the problem was with the younger officers, who resented the increased time. The older officers, like Santucci, had a verbal smackdown ready for the complainers, reminding them that Rafferty and Gutierrez covered for them countless times. However, Lydia noticed that each of the older officers asked her later if the city was paying for Gutierrez and Rafferty's hotel stay. She countered by reminding them that the city wouldn't pay for their flight or hotel accommodations when they attended police seminars in other cities. What made them think this was any different?

Santucci just grimaced and nodded. Of course, right after that, she had another conversation with the Raleigh police captain, Nathan Lambert. He was a good guy. Kinda reminded her of her first partner, back in Jersey. He realized, just as her detectives did, that there was nothing the Raleigh Police Department could do for Michael. They had no idea how he got to that alley. . .no idea who shot him. Going to Campbell was probably the best thing for him, under the circumstances. Like Detective Aubrey, he asked that the Campbell police department keep him apprised of Michael's progress.

According to her girls, Michael was already making progress. Not in remembering how he got to Raleigh, much less the alley, or in his past, but in learning English. During her last conversation with Kristin Rafferty, Lydia discovered that the trio, plus the doctor in charge of Michael's care, were teaching Michael to speak English, a word at a time. Based on what she heard about him, that was probably the only way to do it. It wasn't as if they could enroll him in an ESL class.

A knock on the door alerted Lydia that she had company, and she called, "Enter at your own risk!" An amused chuckle was her reward, as the door swung open. Lydia smiled back. . . really, what else could she do? Dr. Arabella Trask entered her office, and the police captain sat back, asking, "So. . .what can I do for you today, Elly?" While the tag-team of Sayre McFarlane and Regine Farrell were her welcoming committee to Campbell, Elly Trask was her first friend of her own age.

When Lydia first arrived in Campbell, Elly had just taken over the coroner's office. Even without her curious career choice, the young doctor would have turned heads. She stood five feet, ten inches in her stocking feet with a figure that was the envy of many women in town. As if that wasn't enough, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Add to that her warped sense of humor, and Elly was one of the most sought-after single women in town. You would have thought a beautiful, intelligent young woman would terrify men, and she did scare the hell out of some. But more were intrigued by her.

Elly observed, "You know Ailsa and Francis are coming back today." It was just that, too. An observation, not a question. Though she spent most of her time at work with the dead, Elly knew about as much about what was going on in Campbell as the lunchtime crowd in Lady J's. Lydia nodded and her friend continued, "Sooo, does that mean my honorary nieces will be arriving as well?" That caused the blonde woman to roll her eyes and Elly added, laughing, "Hey, it happens, you know! I went to school with a guy whose oldest nephew was only a year younger than he was."

"And what does your mother say about you calling a thirty-two year old cop your niece, albeit honorary?" Lydia questioned, teasing the younger woman. Elly would be thirty-eight in April of 2006, only six years older than her 'honorary niece.' The young woman just grinned, her warm brown eyes sparkling. Lydia shook her head, asking, "What can I do for you? I know you aren't here to ask me about Ailsa and Francis coming home, and I'm betting that you're not here about Bethany Lawson."

"I am. . .just not in the way you're thinking. After I finished her autopsy last night, I contacted one of my professors at Duke. She's the one who really got me into forensics. Anyhow, she told me that Robeson's MO sounded familiar, but she'd need a couple of days to confirm it," Elly answered. What was she thinking, that Robeson was a copycat of some kind? The coroner explained, "It isn't so much that I think he's a copycat. I read over the transcripts of his confession to Rafe Santucci. His most immediate motive seems to be revenge. A woman turned him down, and he wanted someone who looked like that woman to pay."

"Are you thinking that Kristin Rafferty turned down this guy? He's gotta be at least fifteen years older than she is!" Lydia exclaimed, incredulous. Elly gave her a look that could best be described as disapproving, and the police captain realized that the coroner wasn't finished yet. Still, the idea of Dalton Robeson, who was pushing forty, sniffing around a college girl was enough to give her the creeps. Sure, she knew about large age-differences in relationships, but _ew_!

"Not necessarily Kristin, but _someone_. I know, Kristin is the first person that springs to your mind. Anyhow, what I'm saying is, when I was reading the transcripts, Robeson thinks he's some kind of artist. That got me thinking. . .most artists, both real and so-called, have inspirations. That's why I contacted my professor. If I'm right, we might be able to help find other victims of this guy," Elly replied. Lydia nodded. She had another detective working on that angle, but Elly's input would help as well.

The two women were silent for several moments. Elly sat back in her chair and rubbed her fingers over her eyes. At last, Lydia asked softly, "What time are you heading over to see Ailsa and Francis?" Elly looked up, surprised, and the police captain explained, "I know what time their flight gets in. . .and I know you'll want to welcome them home. Maybe explain to Ailsa why you didn't tell her about Bethany's death?" Elly rolled her eyes, obviously exasperated.

"Remind me to hurt Gavin for that? He had no business telling them about that," the coroner muttered. Lydia hid a smile. . .or tried to, rather. Elly continued, "Megan's thirty-two years old, not twelve. She would have told them on the way home. But no, Gavin couldn't trust his cousin, he had to throw his two cents in. I swear, that man never changes!" Now Lydia wasn't even trying to hide her smile. Elly and Gavin were dating when she and Steph arrived in Campbell. His divorce was final, and he threw himself back into the dating world, just as she did after her own divorce. They dated for about six months, and while they realized they wouldn't work out, they remained friends. Which meant that Elly told Gavin when he was being an idiot.

Lydia pointed out, "Well, like you said. . .Rafferty's an adult. She can handle her mother." That wasn't the point, and she knew it. Elly took her role as the Rafferty girls' 'aunt' very seriously. She was almost viciously protective of the two, even where their cousin was concerned. Lydia added, "Besides. I have a feeling Campbell's latest resident will distract Ailsa from her lectures." Elly's eyebrows shot straight up. Ohhh. She forgot Elly didn't know about that. Well, it was time she rectified that situation. Putting the evil in the world out of her mind for a while, Lydia began to explain to Elly what took Rafferty and Gutierrez to the capital city in the first place.


	3. Homeward Bound

Author's Notes: Not as long of a wait this time, though I wanted to have this out a few days ago. Things just didn't work out that way. I should be able to get out one more chapter before I visit California at the beginning of May. I plan to take my laptop. . .it's doubtful that I'll get a chance to write, but I'll do my best.

In the hot men department: for anyone who hasn't. . .GO SEE _300_! Okay, it does have David Wenham and Gerard Butler in hardly more than a loincloth and a cloak, but quite apart from that. . .you might want to bring some Kleenex. _LOTR_, _300_ and _Gettysburg_ are the only movies which have made me cry as an adult. Since I doubt if I'll have another chapter ready in time, I'll just take a moment to be a truly embarrassing fangirl, and wish Sean Bean a happy birthday in advance. I hope he won't be reading this, but Sean, happy birthday, and thank you for all the enjoyment you've provided over the years.

The exchange between Boromir and Gavin was inspired by a true event in my family. My paternal grandmother's grandparents came from Sweden in the late nineteenth century, and spoke very little to no English. To repeat the entire story would take too long, but my great-great grandmother learned some words that weren't exactly used in polite society. As ever, thank you for the reviews, and by all means, if you notice a typo, PLEASE tell me! Trust me, I don't bite. I'm also open to ideas and suggestions. I can't promise I'll use it, but I will definitely take things under consideration. With that out of the way. . .on with the latest developments!

Chapter Two

Homeward Bound

It was decided that Kristin would ride back to Campbell with Elena and Nico. The suggestion was made by Gavin, but it was quickly seconded by Elena. In the first place, as much as she loved Nico, she really preferred to have human companionship. In the second place, Kristin would have her parents to herself this evening. And in the third place, Megan had enough to deal with right now, between her mother and Gavin. Elena knew Elly Trask well enough to realize the coroner would rake her ex-boyfriend over the coals for opening his big mouth. She just hoped she could be there to see it.

And though Kristin was on the point of whining a few times while they were inside the airport, there was no mistaking the worry in her voice as they followed the van out of the parking garage. She asked softly, "Do you think they'll be okay? I mean, I know Mom's kinda upset that Meg didn't tell her about Bethany. . .and Meg's upset at Gavin because he did tell Mom and Dad. She's driving, so. . ." The girl's voice trailed off and she looked over at Elena.

"Your dad will keep your mom in check," the cop answered, "especially since Meg is driving. The last thing he wants is an accident on the way home because your mom wouldn't leave Meg alone about the Lawson case." A glance to her right told her that Kristin was thinking that one over. Elena went on, "Besides, your father will have back-up from Michael. I saw the way your mother was looking at him. She'll want to mother him, mark my words."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," the girl mused. Elena wondered if her companion saw the expressions of her menfolk when they saw Michael. Elena and Megan certainly did. They talked about it while they were paying for their respective Express tickets. Megan noticed because she happened to be looking at the men in question when they first saw Michael. Actually, as Megan put it, "I saw Dad's face when he noticed Michael, and for some reason, I looked at Gavin. I dunno, I guess I thought it was contagious or something. But yeah, I saw it. It was like they knew him, or something."

_They stood at the kiosk, Kristin steering Michael's wheelchair. Fortunately for him (and her), she wasn't trying to race anyone. Not that she would. Kristin knew better than that. Elena observed quietly, "Yeah, and I saw the look on Gavin's face after they came out of the restroom." Her partner frowned, and Elena had explained, "He looked sick, Meg. Something is going on with that cousin of yours. I heard your dad ask if he hurt himself while he was helping Michael. Gavin said no, he just saw Michael's wounds."_

_Meg bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then said softly, "One thing I know about Gavin. He can keep his mouth shut when he wants. And I have a gut feeling that he'll want to keep his mouth shut about whatever's bothering him." Yeah, Elena would second that! Megan looked at her then, straight on, and said, "I think what bothers me, more than anything else, is the fact that. . .that look we saw on Dad and Gavin's faces, when they looked at Michael? I saw that look on Ronan's face a few times."_

_Now that Meg mentioned it. . .yeah. Yeah, Elena watched Ronan with Michael many times. She asked softly, "You think they'll want to stick close to him, the way Ronan did?" Maybe they were making a mountain out of a molehill, and maybe they were being overly sensitive, but something didn't track. Michael didn't speak a word of English, he didn't remember anything about his past, and every thing seemed very new to him. Almost. . .almost as if he didn't belong in the modern world._

Elena knew Megan's family well enough to know that Francis Rafferty had never been to Europe, which was where Elena believed Michael was from. Gavin had been all over the world, but. . .it didn't add up for her. Kristin said, interrupting her train of thought, "Is that why you wanted me to ride with you?" Huh? Elena quickly glanced at her companion out of the corner of her eye, and Kristin elaborated, "Just in case Mom decided to lecture Meg about not telling her and Dad while they were on vacation?"

"That was a part of it, yeah. It's gonna be crowded, in the first place, and Meg needs to focus on her driving. Besides, I really needed human companionship. Nico's a doll, but kinda lacking in the conversation department." Kristin giggled at that. Elena continued, a little more seriously, "Honestly, I probably should have asked Gavin to ride with me, since Michael is more comfortable with you. He's known you the longest, and he trusts you. But. . .Gavin would be miserable with his long legs in the passenger side, and there's no way I'm gonna let him drive _my_ baby."

Kristin snickered, though Elena meant every word she said. Megan referred to such comments from Elena as being 'half in fun and full in earnest.' She apparently picked it up from her paternal grandfather, who emigrated from Ireland to Canada as a young boy. As much as Elena groused about it, her partner had it about right. Elena teased Gavin about driving her car, but she still wouldn't do it. About a year earlier, her younger brother Felipe borrowed her car while his was in the garage for the week, while she rode with Megan. At first, everything seemed to be fine with her baby. Up until she started having trouble with her steering wheel shaking, and a strange whining noise emerged from the engine. Felipe had apparently become a little overly enthusiastic while parking one day at work, and ran over the concrete blocks used to indicate parking spaces. It tore a hole in a transmission hose.

So now, Elena was extremely hesitant about letting anyone drive her car. While she knew Gavin, she never rode with him. Ergo, there was no way she would let him drive her baby. Elena told her companion, changing the subject, "I don't know about you, but I have all of my Christmas shopping." She was favored with a pout, and Elena shrugged, adding, "Hey, I didn't spend all my time at the hospital, you know. After Meg and I made the decision to bring Michael to Campbell with us, we also decided that we should finish our shopping before he was released from the hospital. Think about it, Kristy. . . the poor guy was just released from the hospital. He speaks no English. Do you really want to subject him to the insanity of the malls at this time of the year?"

"Ew," Kristin said plainly, and Elena laughed. The girl said, "Okay, so you're gonna leave me to face the crazies, all by myself?" Elena drew to a stop at an amber light, looked at Kristin. . .and nodded with an evil grin. Kristin sighed, "I was afraid you'd say that. All right, since you're abandoning me, you can at least help me figure out what to get Meg for Christmas. Sometimes I think you know her better than I do." _Half in full,_ _full in earnest_, Elena thought, but nodded. As it happened, she did have a _few_ ideas. . .

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In the van driven by Megan Rafferty, the atmosphere was a weird mixture of a joyful family reunion and a tense confrontation. Especially for her cousin Gavin, who divided his attention between the back of Megan's head and staring out the window, when he was trying _not_ to stare at the final passenger in the van. Between Meg's tension, his own mixed emotions and. . .him, Gavin was almost wishing he had remained in Miami. Okay, maybe telling Ailsa wasn't the smartest idea he ever had. But at the time, he thought he was doing the right thing, and didn't that count for something? Apparently not where Meg was concerned. The kid was weird that way. Always had been. But he supposed that was part of the reason he was so protective of her. Because she _was_ a bit weird, and that made her vulnerable.

He knew why she was so upset with him. It wasn't that he told her mother about Bethany Lawson's murder, so much. . .that played into it, especially since they were on vacation. But the real reason? To Meg, his action said that he didn't trust her. Which was completely untrue. Gavin trusted her, implicitly. He knew she would have eventually told her parents about the murder. . .after they landed in Raleigh and before they reached Campbell. She would have wanted to soften the blow, if there could be such a thing.

The reason he made the announcement was so she wouldn't have to. Gavin knew Meg, about as well as he knew himself (and better than he knew his own son). He was in the airport, getting ready to fly down to Miami, when Damaris Franklin called him on his cell. She wanted to know if he talked to Megan and if she was all right. Gavin was a little confused. . .why wouldn't she be okay? That was how he learned about Bethany Lawson. Damaris also told him that Megan and Elena were the detectives who not only found the girl's body, but also apprehended the murderer. Damaris didn't bother with alleged, not when the son of a bitch confessed.

While he could certainly understand how Meg would be sickened by the murder of a child (and anyone who was the same age as his son qualified as a child), Gavin couldn't figure out why this particular murder would upset her so badly. He really wasn't familiar with Bethany. He knew that she was about eighteen or nineteen, around Kristin's age, but beyond that? He drew a blank when he heard her name. Damaris reminded him that not only were Bethany and Kristin of an age, but they looked remarkably similar.

At that point, everything made sense to Gavin. Megan was as protective of Kristin as Gavin was of both girls. Even though her baby sister was more or less safe, finding Bethany would have done a number on Meg. He supposed he should have been just as concerned about Elena. . .things like that did a number on her as well. The difference was. . .well, there were a few differences. The main reason was, Elena had her entire family right there in Campbell. Megan's support system was scattered to the four corners of the world. All right, that was an exaggeration.

But it didn't take away from the truth. . .Meg _needed_ her parents. She needed them to know about something so horrible, so they could support her. Yes, once she reached Raleigh, she would have Kristin, but in truth, Gavin wasn't sure if she was ready to be the older sister. He watched those two grow up. And even after he joined the Corps and got married, he could still see how the elder sister looked after the younger. In some ways, Meg was Mommy Two for Kristin. Was Kristin ready, was she strong enough, to give her more vulnerable older sister the support she needed?

That was why he called Ailsa. However, Meg wasn't ready to listen to him, not yet. He wouldn't go so far as to accuse her of hiding behind Michael (the warrior angel, was it? Well, he could think of worse things to call him. . .and had, on occasion). But it didn't take a great deal of intelligence (or observation skills) to notice the way she fussed over him. She fussed that way over Gavin, over Elena, over Kristin, over Damaris. It was her way of protecting herself and he couldn't say she was wrong to do it. Still. He really wished she would relax a little. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles were turning bone white. Literally. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, just as soon as they were all inside the van (and Gavin had to ask her where she got the van. Eventually). From his position, he saw the tail of her hair, the nape of her neck, the crystalline dolphin earrings which he bought for her, to mark her twenty-first birthday. And he saw the tension in the back of her neck and across her shoulders.

He wasn't the only one watching her. So was B. . .Michael. When he first saw the blond man, sitting in the wheelchair at the airport, he couldn't believe his eyes. How could it be the same man? Boromir died eons ago. But. . .the reincarnations of those who lived in Middle-earth during the second War of the Ring found each other again over the millennia. All except one. All except Boromir. Then Megan began to tell them how Michael was found. . .unconscious in a Raleigh alley, with three arrow wounds in his torso. She told them how he was dressed, and Gavin had to accept the truth of what he was hearing. He just didn't know what to do about it. Yet.

Francis said suddenly, distracting Gavin from his troublesome thoughts, "You know, this is rather unexpected. I would have never believed I'd see you driving a van, Megan." Meg laughed and cast her father an affectionate glance. He was seated to her right, in the front passenger seat, and continued, "I'm serious, princess! I know you hate large vehicles! You're driving this as much for Michael's sake as for ours. I guess what I want to know is where you got it. . . did you rent it, or borrow it?"

"It was loaned to me, by Michael's doctor and Kristin's mentor, Dr. Ronan Daly. You'd like him, Dad. He's around your age, originally from Ireland. He took Michael under his wing. Not just being his doctor, but going above and beyond. Ronan's the one who started teaching Michael English. We took that up as well. . .in fact, we taught Michael a few words on the drive to the airport. He was getting carsick, poor dear man," Megan replied and Gavin suppressed a smile, hearing their grandfather in those last words. Gandy never said that, but their grandmother was another story. She often referred to Gandy as 'the poor dear man,' usually after she got the better of him.

"That reminds me," Francis observed, "I meant to ask you. How, exactly, did you convince the hospital to release him into your care? And how did you pay for his care? I doubt if he's got health insurance, and given how he was found. . ." Ah. Good question. While Megan could have put B. . ._Michael_. . .on her insurance, it would have been complicated, to say the least. Gavin shook his head a little. It would take him time to get used to calling the blond man 'Michael.'

Megan gave a brief laugh, replying, "Ronan was a living, breathing guardian angel. He loaned us the van, convinced the hospital that we were Michael's best bet. . .and he paid for Michael's medical care. I asked him a few times why, if he'd never met him before. It. . .he always got this sad look in his eyes, and when I asked one time, he told me that Michael reminded him a lot of a friend he lost a long time ago. Apparently, this friend was really good to him after Ronan lost a member of his family, and it ate at Ronan that he couldn't return the favor. So, I guess he's trying to atone with Michael."

Gavin stiffened a little. Lost a member of his family? Was it possible that one of the Nine Walkers. . .or rather, his reincarnation. . .was here in North Carolina? Actually, he supposed it would be eight in this case. Either way, he needed to know more about this Ronan Daly. That, however, would wait until he reached Campbell. His own family would need him, especially now. Besides, he had some old Marine comrades in Raleigh and he was sure some of them would have information about this man. He wanted to believe that the doctor who took both Kristin and. . .Michael under his wing was the reincarnation of an old friend. But he needed far more information before he arranged an encounter with the man in question. Christmas was a short time away, and he knew that the rest of the Rafferty clan would be arriving from Virginia and Canada.

Ailsa's voice cut into his reverie, asking smoothly, "And that reminds me, darling. Speaking of family. . .when exactly did you plan to tell us about Bethany Lawson's murder? I would have liked to have known, preferably from you, before we reached Campbell." Megan sighed, shooting Gavin a murderous glare in the rearview mirror. He cringed, offering her an apologetic smile. He would never apologize for looking out for her. . .but he would apologize for the way he had gone about it.

Unexpectedly, Francis said, "Leave the girl alone, Ailsa, especially while she's driving. We were on vacation, and there was no need for us to know. She's fine, Kristy is fine, and the miserable son of a bitch who tortured and murdered Bethany is behind bars. Our daughter did her job, so if that piece of dirt goes free, it won't be because of a technicality. And that's good enough for me."

Gavin glanced at the older woman out of the corner of his eye. Her mouth was opening and closing. As Kristin would have said Ailsa was doing her stranded fish impression. Then, to make things absolutely perfect, B. . ._Michael_ reached over, put his fingers under her chin, and gently closed her mouth. He said nothing during the conversation, but Gavin noticed the way he was looking at Megan. The newcomer was still wobbly, and yet, he was already becoming protective of the petite brunette. Then again, that shouldn't come as a surprise. The man he had known, all those ages ago, had a protective nature. . . and he would be even more protective of a young woman who had looked after him.

At last, Ailsa said plaintively, "But we could have helped her! She shouldn't have been alone!" Gavin smiled to himself. Seemed like they were on the same page, after all. She looked at the back of her daughter's head, and, like Gavin, saw the tension in the back of her neck. It was a reasonable assumption that she also saw just how white Megan's knuckles were as her hands gripped the steering wheel.

Meg answered softly, "I wasn't alone, Mama. Elena was with me when we found her, and when she wasn't there, Nico was. I've never been alone." _Not even when I wanted_ _to be_. Gavin wondered if anyone else heard the unspoken words. After a moment, she continued, "Anyhow, I'm not the important one right now. Michael is. He needs all of us. And we really need to decide what we'll do about lunch." Gavin looked over at the blond man, who was regarding them all with curiosity and frustration, and for the first time, something else occurred to him. He wasn't alone anymore. Boromir was here, and he would help Gavin look after Megan and Kristin. The why of it could wait until later. For now, that was most important. Boromir never apologized for looking after those whom he loved most, and nor would Gavin.

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Across the country, a man sat in front of his computer, reading over his email for the tenth time. He ran his fingers through his graying dark hair, not sure if he should feel frightened or exhilarated or. . .what. Of all the things that happened since he awoke, this had the potential to be the most devastating. He needed to hear the words, as well as read them, so he began reading aloud, _Gabriel, please forgive me for not telling you of this sooner. I have my reasons, but they are difficult to explain at the moment. But I am telling you because out of the entire mailing list, you are the only one I trust with this information. Odd, isn't it, considering I was present at your death? But it is true. I know you have tried to make amends for the wrongdoing of your previous incarnation. What I am about to tell you may make that easier._

_I have found Boromir of Gondor. . .or perhaps, I should say, he found me. When I say that Boromir has been found, I don't mean his reincarnation, but the young rascal himself. I do hope you are sitting down, Gabriel. About two weeks ago, he was found in an alley not far from the hospital where I work, still dressed in the same attire he wore when last I saw him. And this is where the tale becomes particularly fantastic. . .the woman, the goddess, who brought him forth in time approached me. She is a goddess or a demi-goddess, perhaps even one of the Valar or the Maiar. I do not know. She calls herself 'Pelagia,' and has claimed Boromir as one of her Champions, along with a young pre-med student who volunteers at the hospital, that student's elder sister, and the sister's partner. The two older women are both police officers._

Here again, Gabriel Wainwright had to stop reading. While he had many memories of being Grima Wormtongue, most of those focused around the last few weeks of his life, including Theoden King's offer of forgiveness. After everything he had done, to Rohan and to Eowyn, his king was willing to forgive him. Or, at the very least, give him the option of atoning for what he had done. On the other hand, he remembered very little about Boromir of Gondor, or about the Steward's heir while he was in Rohan. It was for that reason that he clicked on the attachment which accompanied the email. The download took a matter of seconds, then he clicked on 'open.' The pale face of an exhausted young man greeted him, but it was a face known to him, even with his limited memories. Gabriel murmured, "Boromir."

He minimized the picture, then continued reading the email, _Boromir was released from the hospital today, and he has accompanied the girls to their home, to his new home, a small town called Campbell. It's about forty-five minutes south of Raleigh. It will be a good place for him. He remembers very little, if anything, of his earlier life, and that is thanks to Pelagia. She feared his memories would cripple his ability to start a new life. In addition to that, of course, he speaks no English. I began to remedy that while he was in my care, and the girls have taken up that task as well._

_Girls. I keep calling them 'girls,' but that only really applies to Kristin, the young pre-med volunteer I mentioned to you. She's no more than twenty or twenty-one, and the youngest of the group. The other two, Megan and Elena, are both in their early thirties. Megan is Kristin's older sister. . .I believe Kristin told me that she was thirty-two, and_ _Elena is Megan's partner. She's a few months younger than Megan. They're both still very young, especially to an old man like me, but at the same time, they aren't girls. They've seen entirely too much to qualify as children. They. . .one of the reasons they agreed to come to Raleigh at Kristin's request is because of one of the things they saw. I can't tell you anything more, because that's not my story to tell. _

Gabriel smiled at that a little. Typical of his friend. . .and yes, much to his surprise, they were friends. It took Ronan some time to forgive Grima's wrongdoings (treason, harassing the Lady Eowyn, and spitting on Aragorn), but now, they were friends. Ronan continued, _In any event, I do recall our conversation in which you told me about meeting the Elf_. _Pelagia told me that he will be coming soon, to find Boromir. When he does, I have no doubt that you'll be one of the first people he'll contact. That's the other reason I've told you about this. . .knowing that the Elf will contact you and knowing that you will believe me._

_So here's what you (and the Elf) need to know. Boromir is in Campbell, North Carolina. He is in the care of Megan Rafferty and Elena Gutierrez, detectives with the Campbell Police Department. For the moment, he will be staying with Megan, since she has more room in her apartment. To say nothing of an elevator in the apartment building, something that Boromir will need while he's using his wheelchair. Tell the Elf. Tell the Elf about the girls, and tell him that Boromir is safe. Oh. . .and tell him that I found Boromir first. That should rankle, nearly as much as the fact that I'm now taller than the pointy-eared menace._

Gabriel bit back a snort. He should have seen that one coming, and maybe he did. Ronan told him, more than once, about the friendly competition between Gimli and Legolas, and the Elf had a few stories to share of his own. He heard. . .and read. . .so many stories about the friendship between the Elf and the Dwarf, how it grew from hostility to tolerance to camaraderie, and that final battle in front of the Black Gates of Mordor. Gimli mock-grumbled that he never thought he would die side by side with an Elf. With a smile, Legolas asked, "What about side by side with a friend?" Gimli's eyes softened as he replied, "Aye. Aye, I can do that."

_I can do that_. Gabriel returned his attention to the missive from Ronan, which concluded, _I don't have much else to tell you. After Boromir has a chance to settle into his new life, I'll be making routine trips to Campbell to see him. Eventually, he'll get his memory back. When he does, I want to reassure him that we've all missed him greatly through the ages. I don't know why I was blessed with first contact, so to speak. I just know that I'll look after him as best I can. There is one other thing you can do for me, Gabriel. Tell Legolas to keep his distance at first. Watch over him, but don't make contact right away. He's frightened and fragile. . .and very protective of his new friends. Take care of yourself, and I'll email you again when I have news. RD_

Gabriel sighed and sat back in his computer chair, staring at the email. Well, that was certainly unexpected. Still, Ronan had it about right. A man who barely spoke English and remembered almost nothing about his life. . .if Legolas made himself known to Boromir immediately, it would likely cause more problems than it might solve. The only question remaining for him was when to tell Legolas. Did he send an email to the Elven prince now? Or wait until Legolas or Haldir contacted him?

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It took them but a few moments to leave the city behind. Mikal was pleased about that. The city was too bright, too loud, too much. But before too much time passed, he saw more greenery and more fields. This was a beautiful area, and the crops were planted in perfectly straight rows. He had no idea what sorts of crops were planted. . .it was somewhat chilly outside, even with the quilt tucked around his legs. Unlike many other things he brought with him, this was not a gift from Ronan, but one of the healers who assisted his new friend. If Mikal recalled correctly, her name was 'Merinda.' She gave him the quilt (and Meg told him what it was called). . .the dark guardian, Awbree, gave him the new clothes, Ronan gave him his own ceedee player and several ceedees. In truth, he felt somewhat overwhelmed by the attention.

Leaving with Meg, Kristin, and 'Layna was something of a relief. They fussed over him, a little, but with the strangeness of traveling within this horseless cart, Mikal realized he didn't mind it as much. After reaching their destination, where they located Meg and Kristin's family, Mikal relaxed further. He was no longer the center of attention, and it became far easier for Mikal to relax. At least, that was the case in the beginning. As he saw more green and less of the city, tension inside the horseless cart became far worse.

He didn't have to understand a word of this new language to know that he was in the middle of a confrontation. . .albeit a very strange one. The atmosphere was at first jovial, as Meg became reacquainted with her parents and her cousin. As they departed, Meg's father headed into a room very similar to the one visited by the girls upon their arrival. Meg's cousin (Mikal believed his name was Gavin) followed with Mikal, and it was then that he discovered the room was a privy. More than one, in fact. Much to Mikal's relief, Gavin made no fuss or comment when he wheeled Mikal into one such privy.

Instead, like Ronan, he simply stood by and supported Mikal. While he was gaining strength every day, Mikal knew it would be some time before he could move about freely. He could walk short distances (such as to the privy), but his legs still trembled if he stood upright for more than a few moments. For that reason, he appreciated Ronan and Gavin's support, as well as their silence. By now, he was becoming accustomed to the waste disposal, and to the water running over his hands after he concluded his business. He became accustomed to the ceedee player, and to the teevee. On the other hand, he wasn't certain if he would _ever_ become accustomed to this horseless cart.

He supposed that was one reason he was paying such close attention to the tension between Meg and her mother. It distracted him from the unnatural speed of the horseless cart, to say nothing of his nausea. Mikal didn't know what caused the tension between the mother and daughter, but he recognized the signs, not only in the mother's face, but in the daughter's behavior, the way she carried herself. Her hands were tight around the wheel she clutched, the one that allowed her to steer the horseless cart (Mikal was rather proud of himself for noticing that), and the muscles in the back of her neck were tight. He could understand nothing of what was said, but he could recognize a scolding when he heard one.

He also recognized a command to stand down, as Meg's sire spoke sharply. There was a brief silence, as Meg relaxed, then her mother responded, her tone bordering on plaintive. There was a sigh from Meg as she said something in a soft voice. Her mother's expression went from chiding to compassionate. While he was in the care of Ronan, Mikal often noticed Meg's sadness, and occasionally, she would enter his room with red-rimmed eyes, as if she had been weeping. Something happened recently, to both Meg and 'Layna. He wished he could understand English better. Mikal truly hated not knowing what was happening. It seemed to him that his ignorance might prove to be dangerous. If not for him, then for his new companions. He was barely able to feed himself, barely able to stand at the moment, but Mikal still wished to protect his new friends. They took care of him, it was only right that he do the same.

Gavin said unexpectedly, drawing Mikal's attention away from the mother and daughter, "Van." What? Confused, Mikal looked at his companion, who repeated, "Van." And this time, he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Did he mean. . .was that what this horseless cart was actually called? Van. As Gavin stared at him expectantly, Mikal realized that Meg's cousin wanted him to repeat the word.

Which he did, saying, "Van. Meg. Father. Mother. Sister." Gavin smiled outright and nodded. Mikal decided to try something new, and repeated something he heard 'Layna say. Hoping that he got the pronunciation correct (and that it wasn't something a lady wasn't meant to hear, though he and Gavin were speaking softly), Mikal said, "Bah-buss-ter?" Gavin mouthed the word in some confusion, then his eyes grew comically wide. A moment later, the van was filled with his laughter. Meg looked up from her task, frowning ever so slightly, and Gavin said something, too quickly for Mikal to even pick out a word or two. However, it seemed to be an explanation enough for Meg, for she smiled back at Mikal, then returned her attention to steering the hor. . .the van.

Gavin turned his attention from their driver. His voice dropped and his expression took on a serious mien. In that language spoken by Ronan before they parted ways, the language Mikal understood but could not name, Gavin said, "_Be careful of where you say that, my friend. It is not a phrase to use easily. It is not a bad word, as such, but it is to be used with care_." Mikal nodded soberly. He still wished that he knew what it meant, so he knew the why of it. Gavin paused, then added, "_As to the meaning. . .it is usually meant_ _for a woman_." His hand went protectively between his legs as he spoke. Oh. It was _that _sort of phrase!

Mikal cringed and Gavin nodded. Meg spoke, drawing Gavin's attention back to herself, and they conversed for several moments in English. Meg's mother turned to Mikal, smiling at him brightly. She took his hand, then pressed her free hand to her chest, saying, "Aylsa." That would be her name. . .and quite lovely it was, too. Many of the names in this time were fetching, even if he did find them passing odd. It occurred to him that perhaps they would find his real name, whatever it was, just as odd.

He squeezed her hand and repeated, "Aylsa. Mother. . .Meg." Aylsa's smile grew all the brighter and she nodded, returning the squeeze. Mikal nodded out at the passing scenery, naming, "Tree. Van. Sign. Skyscraper." At that precise moment, they were passing the strangest thing Mikal had seen yet (and his strangest things kept being replaced by even stranger things). It was long, and at first, he thought it was a structure. . .until he realized that it was moving. Mikal indicated the long, gray line, and asked, "Van?" Aylsa looked out, then shook her head with a smile.

"Trayn," she replied. Trayn? Mikal frowned. Aylsa fumbled around for something, then gave a little cry of triumph. She waved yet another strange device at Mikal. He couldn't help pulling away a little, though he knew not how it would harm him. That was hardly the point. However, it didn't stay away from him for long. Aylsa pressed them against his eyes. They were a form of spectacles? It took him a moment to adjust to the strange sensation. . .and then another few moments to focus his eyes properly. But when he did, it was worth it. He had been looking in the direction of the trayn, and this strange, spectacle-like object allowed him to see into the trayn. And inside the trayn, he saw people. Ahhh. . .so a trayn carried people, just as a van did!

Mikal lost track of time as Aylsa taught him more words in English. They started with the features of the face, then moved onto other body parts. Not all words were easy for him to say, but Aylsa was a remarkably patient teacher, repeating a word until he was comfortable with it. Thus, he was more than a little surprised when Meg stopped the cart…stopped the van. Confused, Mikal looked up and around. Where. . .were they? No one seemed to be leaving the van, and a quick glance told him that there were other, smaller carts surrounding them. There were also some that were around the same size. He looked back at Aylsa with a questioning glance. She smiled, patted his hand, and said simply, "Food." Now _that_, he understood!

The sun was high in the sky, and as best as Mikal could figure, it would probably be another five or six hours before darkness settled. He was hungry, but until Aylsa mentioned it, he never really thought about it. What would he eat? Everyone was looking out the sides of the van, at a large sign with lettering on it. Perhaps the menu? Then how would he know what to eat? Mikal nearly snorted in self-disgust as he realized it mattered not at all. He knew not how to read English, nor what these foods were. Which meant he would need to trust Meg. He _did _trust her. But Mikal wished he was not so terribly dependent on her. _I will not always be_, he thought, making a promise to himself, _one day, I will be able to speak English and understand what is being said. One day, I will have my strength back, and when I do, I **will **look after Meg, and Kristin, and Aylayna, as they have looked after me!_

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Well, when all was said and done, it wasn't as bad as she feared. In fact, on a scale of one to ten, the conversation with her mother registered as a four. And after Megan reminded her family about the need for lunch, her dad called Kristin on her cell phone, asking where she wanted to eat. Surprise, surprise, Kristin hadn't really thought about it, and agreed to whatever the group in the van decided. That sparked a lively debate. While Mom and Gavin both wanted pizza, Megan suggested Sonic, reminding them that Michael was accustomed to hospital food. Plus, he was recovering from an abdominal wound. He could eat solid food, but something as spicy as pizza probably wasn't a good idea. Dad backed her up on that. Fortunately, the rest of her family loved Sonic as well, as did Elena. So Sonic it was.

As she pulled into the parking lot, Megan was relieved to see that the lunchtime crowd hadn't hit yet. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of Michael getting out of the van to sit at one of the benches in front of the building. . .besides, she liked eating in the van. It brought back memories of when she was very young, and they would go to Sonic for ice cream. They would sit in the station wagon, with the radio on a classical music station, and the windows rolled down. At that time, Megan didn't like classical music (although, she was happy to say that her taste in music had improved), but the ice cream treats always made it worthwhile.

No ice cream for now, though she didn't doubt Michael would enjoy it. She wanted to wait until they were home (her apartment building) before she introduced him to the joys of ice cream. For now. . . Megan mused aloud, "I'm thinking for his first meal outside the hospital, my best bet would be a corndog. What do you think, Dad?" She looked to her right. Dad was reading the menu (and, no doubt, making faces at Elena and Kristin, who were right beside them).

She once saw (and bought) a t-shirt for Elena's father. . .'grandpas are just antique little boys.' It fit Tio Manuel, and it fit her father as well. Although, he wasn't a grandfather. From the backseat, her cousin commented, "If you want to play it safe, a corndog's fine." There was a brief pause, then he repeated with meaning, "If you want to play it safe." Megan turned in her seat, eyeing Gavin.

She asked, "If I want to play it safe? Gavin, Michael was just released from the hospital, and I don't want him getting sick! He's healing beautifully, and I have no intention of risking that." Gavin blanched. . .he hadn't taken that into consideration. Megan was seriously tempted to bounce her head off the steering wheel. Maybe she shouldn't be so hard on him. . .his ex-wife saw to it that his contact with Reece was limited, and he wasn't around while Kristin was a baby. Michael wasn't a child, but he was healing, and they did have to be careful about what he ate. . .at least in the beginning.

Unexpectedly, Dad laughed and told her, "You're thinking like a parent, Meggie." Startled, Megan looked at him, and he continued, "And that's why your mother will start in, ever so often, about grandbabies." There was a protesting noise from the back seat, beside Michael, and Dad responded, "Ah, none of that, Ailsa. You forget, I've been in the room when you start nagging Meg about when she'll give us grandchildren. And unlike you, I remember just how stubborn she can be."

"I've got no business being a parent, not yet," Megan stated, her hands tightening around the steering wheel, "especially not a single parent. There is no such thing as the perfect life for a child, but a single police officer, even in a town like Campbell. . .that's a recipe for heartbreak. Cops _die_ in the line of duty." This was a conversation she had with her parents before, especially her mother. . .who didn't seem to understand. Cops, firefighters, soldiers, they all died in the line of duty. They all left people behindm people who loved them. And she just wasn't ready to take that chance with a child's heart.

Gavin said quietly, "That they do. There's no such thing as ever really being ready to be a parent, but I do think that once you're ready. . .I'll back you all the way." This was so unexpected from her cousin, Megan looked over her shoulder with a frown. He was staring back at her, his bright eyes steady and serious. She wasn't sure if it was due to his own regrets over Reece or something else, but right now, it was enough that she didn't have to fight this battle on yet another front. He added, his lips quirking, "Make that two corndogs. Gotta convince Michael that it's safe to eat, after all."

"Oh, is that what you call it? Because it couldn't be that my dear cousin, who served in the Marines for nearly twenty years, is playing it safe? I mean, I've heard all sorts of things about ex-Marines," Megan returned, her lips twitching. The young detective was rewarded with a low growl from her cousin. Her father just snickered, though she could tell he was trying not to.

"Megan Penelope Veronica, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. There is no such thing as an _ex_-Marine!" Gavin growled. Megan just giggled a little and her father mouthed, 'you are so bad!' Yes, she knew, and it was such fun! Especially when she was annoying Gavin. He was sooo easy to irritate. She talked with some of his Marine buddies, and knew he wasn't like that in the Corps. Must be a family thing. While the Corps was family in a sense, it was different, too.

"You should know better than to fall for the bait, Gavin. So, Michael and Gavin are having corndogs. Have you decided what you want, Meg?" her father asked. She shook her head, returning her attention to the menu. She was rather fond of corndogs herself, but right now, just about anything sounded good. Dad went on, "I think I'll have a wrap. So that's three down and two to go." He didn't say anything more, but Megan knew her father. . .and knew that he was barely restraining himself from teasing her and her mother by pointing out that the two holdouts were both women.

"I'll have a coney with onions," Mom announced. _Oops. Shouldn't have said a word, Dad_, Megan thought, directing a grin at him. He just groaned and dropped his face into his hands. He was muttering something, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was saying. She could swear in two languages (English and Spanish), and he could swear in at least three (English, French, and Irish Gaelic). A glance into the rearview mirror showed that her mother was wearing a Cheshire-cat grin, that only broadened when she added, "I suppose that means you'll be sleepin' on the sofa, Francis?"

"Meggie, can I come stay with you tonight?" Dad wheedled. Megan bit her lower lip as he continued, "I can help you look after Michael!" Now this, she had missed. More seriously, her father continued, "That reminds me, you're planning on taking Michael to the apartment building after you drop us off?" Megan nodded. . .yeah, that was what she was planning to do. Dad went on, "Good. He doesn't need the stress of getting out and getting in the van today. Take him back to your building, and we can get together tomorrow, or whenever you have a day off. Regardless of what your mother says, we need a day to recuperate as well."

Yet again, her mother protested, and Dad looked at Megan with a long-suffering expression. She wasn't fooled, too terribly much. Her parents had been married for thirty-five years, after all. Megan and Kristin were among the lucky ones, and they knew it. Their parents were still together, and still crazy about each other (sometimes, to the point of being embarrassing). They knew how lucky they were, when so many of their friends survived the respective divorces of their parents. That was something else she had in common with Elena. Tio Manuel and Tia Soledad had been married for nearly the same amount of time as Megan's own parents.

Which was why she just smiled at him and said, "Okay, so we have a coney with onions, at least two coney dogs, and a wrap. I'm assuming you want a chicken wrap, Dad?" He nodded with a mock-glare, which she blithely ignored. So, all that was left was hers. She still wasn't ready to order, so to buy herself time, Megan asked next, "Anyone have any ideas about what they want to drink?" A smack connected with the back of her head, and she reached over her shoulder to grab the retracting hand. Not surprisingly, it belonged to Gavin, and as ever, she repaid him in kind with a smack to his hand before releasing it. He just humphed, but that was the extent of his complaint.

"Sweet tea, of course," her mother chimed in. Of course. How silly of her to even ask. Mom continued after a moment, "I think sweet tea would be good for Michael as well." Meg nodded thoughtfully. Probably a good idea. Sweet tea wasn't bland, but it wasn't as potent as a Coke or Pepsi. So that was two definite sweet teas. As much as Dad loved the South and North Carolina, he never really developed the taste for sweet tea, so he would probably get a Coke. . .or maybe a shake.

"Gavin?" Megan called over her shoulder, smirking as she noticed her cousin's pout. Still on that, was he? Not that she was complaining. There was a time after his divorce when she was afraid he would never smile again. Melodramatic? Maybe, but it was also true. Some of her classmates found it odd that she and Gavin behaved more like brother and sister than like cousins. . .then again, most of those classmates had cousins scattered all over the continental US, whom they only saw every few years. On the other hand, nearly all of her classmates called the siblings of their parents 'aunt' or 'uncle,' something Gavin never called either of her parents. As far back as she could remember, Gavin always called her parents by their given name. It was a quirk of her cousin's, and over the years, she just got used to it. Along with all of his other quirks.

She just wished she knew why he reacted the way he did to Michael. That. . .something about that nagged at her. She glanced at Michael in the rear view mirror and had to smile. Every time she looked at him, Megan remembered again why she had to bring him to Campbell. Besides, with both of her 'babies' grown up, Mom needed someone to take care of. So, for that matter, did Mrs. Watkins. Oh. Now there would be a meeting for the record books! Considering the way Mrs. Watkins looked after her. . .oh yeah. This could be fun.

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Hmmm. She supposed she really couldn't/shouldn't complain. The idea of her Champions driving separately nagged at her. . .they were stronger together, rather than apart, but she could also see the practicality in it. Though Ronan's van was large, it wasn't quite large enough to carry seven people, a dog, plus luggage. She could make statements regarding Ailsa Rafferty's wardrobe, but that would make her a hypocrite. Besides, given that the woman was coming back from a cruise, Pelagia supposed her number of suitcases was reasonable.

Since her Champions were in good hands, Pelagia turned her attention to Ronan Daly. Good. He did just as she instructed. She knew, of course, of his electronic mailing list. And she also knew that the reincarnation of Grima Wormtongue, the emergency technician now called Gabriel Wainwright, was on that list. Finally, she knew that Legolas and Haldir now counted Gabriel among their allies. It was for that reason that she directed Ronan to contact Gabriel directly, not through the mailing list, about the discovery of Boromir in the Raleigh alley. He was not to do that immediately, she told him. Wait until after the Rafferty sisters and Elena Gutierrez checked him out of the hospital and into their care.

By that time, Legolas and Haldir would have reached their destination, and Boromir would be safely away. Indeed, a quick check told her that Legolas and Haldir arrived at the stables, unscathed, and left in the same condition. Fortunately for the prince, the granddaughter of the owner was not at the stables. With more than a trace of humor, Pelagia reflected that it was a blessing for the prince. Vanessa was a sweet child, but exactly that. A child, and while her attention was flattering to Legolas, it was also rather awkward. Johanna Watkins was young in the eyes of Elves, but none of the Firstborn would ever call her a child. Not after everything she saw and experienced in her life.

With the young Elves observed, Pelagia's focus was now only divided between Raleigh and Tulsa. Ronan was not entirely comfortable with the idea of telling Gabriel about Boromir. Not particularly because Gabriel was the reincarnation of Grima, but more because of Ronan's fierce desire to protect his rediscovered friend. In addition, Ronan was something of a romantic. . .maybe even an idealist. He was a man who, like many others, found the idea of a quest attractive. Pelagia thought that was somewhat ironic, considering his previous incarnation. Gimli, of all people, would know about the darker side of quests: the lack of hygiene, the hours and days of walking, the boredom.

On the other hand, he remembered the joy as well. Ronan didn't want to give Legolas the information about Boromir, he wanted Legolas to find it on his own. Pelagia could appreciate that, but she had no idea how much time they had. . .if they could afford to wait. Whenever this looming problem became manifest, she knew that her Champions would need the aid of both Legolas and Haldir. Quests were fine. . .but back-up was far more necessary in this situation. That meant Legolas and Haldir. It also meant Gabriel Wainwright. He would be needed. Pelagia could see that. What was hidden from her was the reason he would be needed. Was his presence required because he was a first responder? Was it required because he was the reincarnation of Grima Wormtongue? Or was there another reason? She could not see that.

Strange. To look at the man still staring at his computer screen, one would never imagine he was once a traitor, his treason born in part of lust. But. . .that was the point of reincarnation, was it not? A second chance. In those last few moments of his life, when Grima was offered a chance at forgiveness, at atonement, there was nothing he wanted more. In that life, he was responsible, even indirectly, for the deaths of so many. In this life, he saved the lives of many others. Some of his co-workers wondered why he was so driven, so determined to fight for each life that he encountered. Was it, they wondered, because of what he saw in Oklahoma City in 1995? Perhaps that was part of the reason. But Pelagia was certain that the perfidy of Grima Wormtongue was a far more significant reason. In his mind, Gabriel knew he was only the reincarnation of the traitor. Not the man himself. But his heart. . .ah, his heart was another story entirely. She feared for him, in truth. How far would he go to atone? Would he sell his soul? Would he sacrifice his life? How far would anyone go for atonement? As her focus returned to her Champions once more, Pelagia had no doubt that when the time came, she. . .and Gabriel himself. . .would learn the answer to that, once and for all.


	4. A Place to Belong

Author's Note: I am SO sorry it took so long for me to get this out! In answer to those who asked, I did, indeed, have a wonderful time in California. Unfortunately, my job has further gone downhill, and that's part of what caused the delay in getting this out. In addition, I had a rather nasty block with one of the sections. And the third reason? Well, you can blame Obi-Wan Kenobi for that one. (rolls eyes) Suffice to say, I've been reading a lot of _Star Wars_ fanfics lately. In any event, I'm back and hope you enjoy the new chapter.

Chapter Three

A Place to Belong

The food came only a few minutes after Meg began speaking to the sign. By this time, it probably should have startled Mikal, but it really didn't. And the sign talking back to her should have shocked him as well, but it didn't. Really, given the strange things he had seen and experienced since waking up, why would it surprise him, much less shock him? On the other hand, the young boy trotting toward the van with what appeared to be a tray in his arms. . .that did shock him. What did that say, he wondered. . .a talking sign didn't surprise him, but this did?

Meg took a bag from him, and just the smell told Mikal that it contained their food. Her father immediately began distributing the food within the bag, while Meg took a pair of cups from the youngster. Those, in turn, were passed around. The entire process took several moments, and in the meantime, Mikal again began looking around. For the first time, he noticed several children playing in a secluded area behind the van. He smiled, hearing their giggles even inside the van. He had no idea what those tube-like things were, but obviously, it was a play area of some kind.

Something warm was pressed down into his hand and Mikal looked around in surprise. Gavin said simply, "Corndawg." Mikal blinked. He was meant to eat this? He gave a small shrug (very small. It still hurt when he did anything else), and raised the corndawg. Gavin yelped and shook his head. He took the corndawg back from Mikal and. . .oh. The white shield was a wrapping of some kind. Mikal truly felt foolish, but smiled gratefully at his new friend. Gavin smiled back and this time when Mikal raised the corndawg to his lips, Gavin didn't stop him. Mikal took a tentative bite, chewing slowly and carefully, just as he did when he was in Ronan's care.

It was a combination of bread and meat, and he enjoyed the combination. More than that, it tasted better than some of the food he ate recently. Gavin watched him, a small smile on his face, then handed him one of the cups the boy gave to Meg. Mikal accepted the drink, and Gavin said quietly, "Sweet tee." Grateful that he learned to drink with a straw while staying at the healing center, Mikal took a sip. This was good, too, and he smiled at Gavin. Sweet tee and a corndawg. His first meal in the outside world.

Everyone else was eating now, and talking when they weren't eating. It should have made him feel left out, but it didn't. What he felt was sleepy, but Mikal wasn't ready to sleep. There were so many things he wanted to discover yet. Meg was relaxing, he noticed, whether because of the food or something else, he wasn't sure. One thing Mikal did learn, though he barely spoke English. . .both Meg and 'Layna felt poorly if they went too long without eating. He noticed them rubbing their temples until Ronan forced them to leave his room.

While he spoke very little English, that impaired his ability to observe not at all. Truly, he could understand no words, but from gestures and posture, he could learn some things. Since he realized his memory might not come back for some time, Mikal instead devoted himself to learning everything he could about his new home. . .rather than wondering about his old life. He tried not to think about what he did before he arrived here, and, indeed, tried to avoid thinking about how he arrived here.

The name of the town he was going to, he learned, was Campbell. The city he just left was Rollee. The name of the state was North Carolina. When he frowned at the word 'state,' Ronan found a map to explain. The country itself was called A-mare-ik-a. Oddly enough, it seemed to have a second name, though it was said too quickly for him to understand it. Within A-mare-ik-a were several divisions, which were called 'states.' It was not such a strange concept, once he thought about it. The subjects of his new country were called A-mare-ikans. The colors of their flag were red, white and blue. Ronan showed him a picture of the flag, and named the colors. That had been a rather lengthy English lesson, as he recalled.

North Carolina, he was learning, was a breathtakingly beautiful state. The countryside especially took his breath away as they left Rollee. Ronan told him that it was winter in North Carolina, so the greenery was limited. . .yet, there was still beauty. Oh, he wished he had the words to express himself! This was a more simple beauty than the stately city in his dreams, but breathtaking nonetheless. Frustrated once more by his lack of knowledge, Mikal turned his attention back to his companions.

Meg, as ever, was quiet as she ate, answering questions from her father in a low voice. He noticed that when first he met Meg and Kristin's parents. . .both parents loved their daughters equally, but each parent was closer to a particular daughter. Aylsa was closer to Kristin, while their father was closer to Meg. Why that was true, he did not yet know. And for all the tension between Meg and her cousin Gavin, their bond was just as strong as any brother and sister. Mikal could see it in Gavin's expression when he looked at Meg, or when he smiled at her. Clearly, he loved her very much. Mikal remembered naught of his own family, but to him, Gavin seemed to behave more like a brother than a cousin. Perhaps he had no brothers or sisters of his own. Either way, he was utterly devoted to both sisters.

Mikal switched his attention to Meg's father, whose name he still didn't know. He was quiet, like his daughter. . .or, at least, said less as compared to his wife. While Meg didn't physically resemble him, Mikal saw a great deal of the father in the daughter. Of course, there was a great deal of the mother in the daughter as well. He saw it in the dark eyes and sometimes in her smile. Physically more than anything else. On the other hand, he still had no idea which parent Kristin resembled. It occurred to him that perhaps she was an orphan taken into the home and hearts of Aylsa and her husband whilst a baby. Not that it mattered. He watched them together, and saw a family. A family. A home. A place to belong. Did he dare hope that he would find such a place among these people? It was too soon to tell. . .but he thought he might.

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Two down, one to go. Boromir was safely in the care of the Campbell girls. He had emailed Gabriel Wainwright about Boromir's return and what to tell Legolas. Now, he had to wait, and for him, that was always the hardest thing. No matter what his name in a given life, waiting was pure hell for him. And yet, it seemed like he did that most of all. Wait for the strange emotions and images to make sense. Wait to find the others, the reincarnations of the Nine Companions.

All right, that wasn't entirely true. During his most recent previous life, back in Wales, he recovered his memories while Legolas was in his life. But of course, those memories were triggered, in part, by a man who closely resembled Boromir. And he never met the other reincarnations. . .on the other hand, Aragorn's reincarnation made it possible for Legolas to return safely from the Great War to say good-bye to his previous incarnation. Even when they didn't meet, the reincarnations touched each other's lives. Ronan smiled, liking the sound of that.

Even so. He waited. He waited for his memories to return, he waited as a doctor, he waited always. Now, he had to wait once more. As Ronan Daly glanced at the digital clock that sat on his desk, he wondered if the small group had reached Campbell yet. Doubtful. The girls had to stop at the airport and pick up their parents and cousin, before heading to Campbell. He hadn't the slightest doubt that they would take good care of Boromir. He knew, he said it before, but ever so often, he needed to reassure himself. Needed to take out his memories of the three. . .and that reassured him that he was doing the right thing for Boromir.

He thought about Elena's fiercely protective attitude toward those in her life, whether it was Megan, Kristin, or Boromir. He thought about Kristin's desire to heal those around her. Or perhaps, in her case, it was more a case of wanting to spread what was given to her. She had been the youngest, the baby, for her entire life. . .and as a doctor-to-be, that didn't matter. She would be a doctor, she would be a healer, and she was already starting to heal those around her. The girl admitted to him just how frightened she was, to realize that for the first time in her life, her older sister was more vulnerable than she was. And yet, when it mattered most, Kristin didn't let that stop her.

Which brought him, finally, to Megan. Was it his imagination, or was there a connection developing between his old friend and the young cop? A connection had already developed between Kristin and Boromir, in part because she took care of him. There was no such reason for a bond to develop between the Gondorian and Kristin's sister. . .she spent no more time with him than Elena did. And yet. . . Megan reminded him of someone, in her demeanor and her viewpoint. Who. . .? Of course. He should have seen it before. Even if Boromir didn't remember his past, Ronan did. And even he could see it. . .in some ways, Megan was a great deal like Faramir. Of course he would be drawn to a woman who was similar to his beloved little brother.

His mind shifted away from the Campbell girls, as well from the man who left with them, the man who was starting a new life, far away from the White City and everything he had known, everyone he had loved. Boromir was fine. He would be fine. So Ronan diverted his attention to his unlikely friend and ally, Gabriel Wainwright. Ronan snorted, shaking his head in wry amusement. If someone had told him three hundred centuries earlier, as he loomed over Grima Wormtongue in the shadows of the Golden Hall, that he and Grima's reincarnation would end up as friends. . . Well, more than likely, Gimli Gloin's son would have buried his axe in that fool's head. Or other, more. . .sensitive. . .places. Gimli did not befriend traitors, he did not befriend one who forced his attentions upon an unwilling maid, and he most assuredly did not befriend someone who spat upon one of his true friends.

(He was also fully aware that Boromir would have referred to himself as a traitor, as an oathbreaker, but that was a phrase Gimli refused to apply to the boy.) However, in the twenty-first century, Ronan Daly could forgive. . .and befriend Gabriel. They met nearly three years earlier, when a tentative Gabriel joined Ronan's mailing list. The doctor wasn't a moderator, but he helped to create it.

Ronan's Gimli memories forced him to realize that there were others out there, like himself. Not necessarily a reincarnation of one of the Nine Walkers, or other beings who knew the world as Middle-earth, but reincarnations. People who had memories not entirely their own and had no idea how to deal with those memories. The internet provided the perfect atmosphere for other reincarnates. . .it was anonymous (which was also one of its greatest weaknesses). After Ronan learned of a woman who committed suicide because of what the newspaper called 'false memories' (but was in fact, memories of a previous life), he helped to create the Renate mailing list. Renate. . . rebirth.

He had no doubt that there were some crackpots on the list, which counted more than a thousand members. But others were deadly serious, and one of those recommended the list to Gabriel Wainwright, who had his own memories of Middle-earth. Much to his own surprise, Ronan's first reaction when he encountered Gabriel wasn't anger, but pity. And from that pity (or compassion) grew the first tentative steps toward friendship. So when Pelagia told him that Gabriel needed to know about Boromir's arrival in the modern world, he hadn't argued. Grima's mistakes, his crimes, were just that. Grima's. He was willing to trust Gabriel Wainwright, the EMT who risked his life to save others, with the life of someone dear to him.

Gabriel was on the scene when Timothy McVeigh blew up the Alfred Murrah Building in Oklahoma City back in 1995, as Ronan learned in one of their earliest emails. That was, in part, the reason he began training to become an EMT (one thing Gabriel never mentioned was what he was before he became a medic). On the other hand, Grima never had to come face to face with the consequences of his treason. Yes, he received an Elvish arrow in the throat when he stabbed Saruman in the back (a fitting end, to Gimli's way of thinking), but did he ever see the consequences of his actions on others? Legolas told Gimli in Valinor that he saw Grima's expression when Theoden offered his forgiveness, offered him a chance to atone. Saw the naked hope. Which meant Grima felt some guilt. . .if he did not, he would have merely laughed at Theoden's offer.

But again, that was Grima's crime. Gabriel was his reincarnation, he was not the same man. Any more than Ronan was the same man as Gimli (of course he wasn't, since Gimli wasn't a Man). Ronan hadn't encountered Aragorn's reincarnation in this lifetime, but he was quite sure that he wasn't the same either (assuming, of course, that Aragorn was reborn as a man. He preferred not to think about the alternative, though). And the fact that Legolas saw Gabriel as an ally, rather than an enemy told Ronan what he needed to know. Gabriel mentioned seeing the Elf (Elves, since Haldir was usually with him), but Pelagia completed the picture for him.

Pelagia. Ronan shook his head, frowning a little as he thought about the demi-goddess or whatever she was. And he still had no idea what that was. Demi-goddess, perhaps a Vala, or one of the Maiar? The second was far more likely, in his view. She was stunningly beautiful, though he wasn't entirely sure what that had to do with anything. She also had the ability to fade in and out, as if she was a spirit. And yet, he could touch her. Or she could touch him. . .however that worked. To say that she was powerful was an incredible understatement. After all, she brought Boromir forward in time thirty thousand years and healed him to the point that he had a fighting chance.

Ronan leaned back in his chair, remembering that godawful day. They were Gimli's memories, not his, but he could feel Gimli's keen grief over the loss of his young friend. Boromir was, in fact, one of the youngest members of the Fellowship. He was older than Merry, Pippin and Sam. . .but younger than Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, and Frodo. In fact, he was half of Aragorn's age, and then some. Only forty-one when he died, still very young among those of his bloodline. Gimli liked the stubborn young warrior almost from their first meeting. For one thing, he trusted the Elves about as much as Gimli did. For another, he spoke plainly, something Gimli appreciated. And then there was the way he looked after the two youngest hobbits, Merry and Pippin.

That was before even Moria. After Moria, everything changed. It changed the moment Gimli fell to his knees before the tomb of his cousin, weeping. . .and Boromir's hand came to rest on his shoulder. It changed as they fought for their lives inside that room. It changed after Gandalf fell in his battle with the Balrog, and Boromir held him close in a warrior's embrace, both to comfort and to restrain him. He had always liked Boromir, but that sequence of events. . .

A bond was created among the Fellowship, through the long days they walked toward Mordor. They were eternally bound by friendship and by love, as Frodo was to say later. And though the Three Hunters succeeded in drawing the Enemy's eye away from Frodo and Sam, by creating diversions first in Rohan and then later in front of the Black Gates, they were nonetheless diminished by the ones missing. They were never truly whole again, not even when they were reunited with Frodo and Sam. That loss, that emptiness, where once stood the Steward's heir, never truly went away.

It wasn't until after the War of the Ring ended that Gimli allowed himself to grieve for his friend. . .to truly grieve. He believed that he would see the young warrior again, perhaps in another life. And he had. It just took thirty thousand years to find him. Ronan wasn't sure if that part of him which was Gimli was angry with Pelagia for denying Boromir his death and his chance to be reborn. Ronan certainly wasn't angry. Though the warrior was forty-one at the time of his death in Middle-earth, he really never had a chance to live. A chance he had now. And Ronan knew with every fiber of his being that it was a chance his friend wouldn't squander.

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Those three never failed to amaze him. He had raised two of them, and known the third since she was fourteen years old. And yet, they could still surprise him. Francis Rafferty looked at the young woman sitting to his left, experiencing a moment of astonishment that this was his daughter. He experienced many such moments of wonder through the years, beginning with Megan's birth, followed by her first smile, her first step, her first word. Now, however, it wasn't the milestones that led to this feeling, but quiet moments.

She sat beside him, quietly devouring the corndog she ordered, occasionally answering questions from the pair in the back seat. By that, of course, he meant his wife and Gavin. The young man they brought with them had very little to say (which was a bit unusual for him, at least in his previous life, when he could be quite outspoken), although Francis heard Ailsa teaching him more words in English. But that was typical of his wife, as was the current conversation between Ailsa and their older daughter. Now that her worry and righteous indignation over being cut out of Megan's support circle was alleviated, Ailsa was more relaxed and began asking Megan about the most recent news from Campbell. Fortunately for his peace of mind, she hadn't brought up grandchildren yet. He hated those conversations, first because they made Megan so tense; and secondly, because he really didn't want to think about how they would come by those grandchildren. There were some things a father just didn't want to imagine about his little girls, and that was at the top of the list. So Campbell was a nice, safe topic.

There were fundraisers scheduled for the next six weeks, they learned, to benefit local families. Some were victims of a devastating accident that took place more than three years earlier, while others were just victims of bad luck. There were spaghetti dinners, pancake breakfasts, pancake dinners, barbeque dinners, and those old fallbacks of any fundraisers, cookie sales and lemonade sales. Of course, most of the barbeque dinners would take place in the spring, when it was a little warmer. One of the first things he learned when he moved to the South more than thirty years earlier. . .contrary to popular belief, it did actually get cold!

"Did those flyers I printed out before we left get put out, baby?" Ailsa inquired. Francis barely hid a smile, especially after he saw the look of exasperation that crossed his little girl's face. By now, of course, his daughter knew that she would always be their little girl, even when she became a parent herself. But at the same time, she was a cop. And from what he could gather, a pretty good one, at that. He didn't trust his own judgment where his daughters were concerned. Francis allowed his eyes to drift once more to the blond-haired youngster seated in the back, then forced himself to look away. There were too many memories there, too much grief. Too many questions he wasn't ready to answer yet. From his daughters, from his wife. . .even from himself.

"Yes, Mama, Elena and I distributed them the day after you and Dad left," Megan answered with only a trace of impatience. Francis could well understand, as Ailsa asked her that very same question several days earlier. But Ailsa was so busy with her work in the community, she had a hard time keeping conversations straight. Something Meg knew as well, but. . . In the end, she was only human, not perfect. She might try to be perfect sometimes. . .the perfect daughter, the perfect cop. . .but when all was said and done, she was only a human being.

"And how many times did the two of you watch any of the _Star Wars_ movies while we were away?" Gavin teased. Oh, no, they weren't going to start this again, would they? Ah, he should have expected it. Ever since Elena and Gavin got into it at Thanksgiving about the merits of the original trilogy versus the prequel movies. Megan tilted her head back, ever so slightly, just enough to look at Gavin in the rearview mirror. . .and stuck out her tongue. Francis roared with laughter, not only at his daughter's sass, but at Gavin's stunned reaction. He laughed even harder a moment later when Gavin mock-whined, sounding like a five year old, "She stuck her tongue out at me!"

"Yeah, and I'll do it again if you don't behave yourself. Just be grateful that Elena wasn't here. . .or worse, Candelaria," Megan answered in an equally mock-severe tone. Francis just snorted his amusement at that. The sisters were both _Star Wars_ fans from the beginning. Well, almost the beginning. . .the first _Star Wars_ movie the elder sister saw was _The_ _Empire Strikes back_, and she was hooked. If he recalled correctly, she had a serious crush on. . .hell, one of the actors. Francis could never keep them straight.

"Oooh, now I'm scared!" Gavin mocked and Megan rolled her eyes. Francis smirked to himself. Now that his daughter was relaxing, the normal banter was returning, and as ever, they were quite entertaining. Not as entertaining as Megan and Elena and Kristin together, but entertaining enough. While they were always close, Megan and Gavin, the bond between them intensified after Gavin finally saw his wretched ex-wife for what she was. He found out that his dumb little cousin wasn't nearly as stupid as he thought she was. Gavin added, "You know, your face will stay like that if you keep that up. Although, in your case, that may be an improvement."

That drew another dirty look from Megan, who scowled at him darkly. Francis knew his daughter, and knew she would have something to say to her cousin. He was right. She fired back, "Behave yourself, Gavin." The Marine just raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Megan repeated, "Behave yourself, Gavin. . .or the next time you ride with me, I'll play nothing but Air Supply!" Francis was amused to see Gavin's expression change from smug to horrified. Oh yeah. That would do it, every time. And now it was Megan's turn to look smug.

Before Gavin could respond to the threat (and that was exactly what it was), Ailsa broke in, chastising, "Children, children, behave yourselves! You'll make Michael think we're uncivilized heathens." Francis avoided pointing out to his wife that she was being redundant. He really didn't think she would welcome it. Nor did he point out to her that Michael didn't understand a word any of them were saying. His wife added, her eyes darkening, "And Gavin, at your age, you really should be above making childish comments about Megan's appearance."

While Megan wasn't especially sensitive about comments about her appearance, Ailsa felt quite differently. One did not make remarks about her daughters' looks in front of Ailsa. Especially if it was a statement that compared the two girls. Gavin knew this, but he was family, and to him, that gave him special privileges. Especially since when someone else made similar comments, he was the first to defend the honor of either girl. Still, Francis could tell that Gavin was on the verge of a 'she started it' or something similar, so he deflected that conversation with, "So, would you prefer to wait until we get home before hearing about the trip, or would you like some tidbits? Say, along the lines of what our flights were like?" Megan grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement and gratitude. No doubt, she knew exactly what would have come next, just as he did.

"The flights? Oh, Francis, please. . .don't bore the poor girl with stories about our flights!" Ailsa sighed, shaking her head. Francis winked at his daughter as his wife continued, "Tell her about the cruise, tell her about the food, but the flights? Please, that's not even worth talking about!" Gazing into the same rearview mirror that his daughter had been using in her exchange with Gavin, Francis looked into the backseat, just in time to see him roll his eyes. . .then wince as Ailsa smacked the back of his head, adding, "Behave, you!"

"Mama, this is Gavin we're talking about!" Megan pointed out, shoulders shaking with amusement. It was Gavin's turn to stick his tongue out at her, followed by arms folded over his chest and his lower lip sticking out in a distinct pout. Francis groaned under his breath. Gavin should know by now not to provide Megan with this kind of ammunition. His older daughter snickered, adding, "Gavin, that lip sticks out any further, you'll trip over it." Now Francis laughed outright, hearing his mother-in-law in those words.

He wasn't the only one. Ailsa said, shaking her head, "I swear, Megan Penelope, there are times when I'd swear we should have named you 'Sayre' after your grandmother!" That earned her a bright, impish grin from the young lady in question. They actually talked about it, but Sayre convinced them that Megan deserved her own name, instead of sharing her name with her grandmother and a town she'd never seen.

"There are worse people to be named after. I've actually thought about that. . .about naming any future daughters after Gramma. Oh, and speaking of flights, I talked to Damaris about a month ago. She said to be careful if you ever have a connection in Minneapolis-St Paul. . .apparently the airport is huge. I imagine it's bad enough for someone on their own, but she had the baby with her," Megan said. She paused, then added with a proud smile, "And I'm pleased to report that Lacey's poster is done! I finished it while we were in Raleigh!"

Which neatly brought things full circle, back to Michael. What in the name of the Valar was he doing here? Francis could no longer keep his mind away from those questions. Why was he here, how did he get here, why wasn't he dead? Not that he was complaining, of course. . .but how did it happen? And, of all the people in the world, how did his daughters and Elena end up as his guardians? Francis would have never admitted it, but he was afraid. Terribly afraid for what this would mean for his girls.

He loved them desperately, and he was so proud of them. But Boromir of Gondor was alive, and in this time. The fact that he was alive, after being pierced by so many arrows, was mind-boggling enough. But here? In the early years of the twenty-first century, and in the United States, far away from where Gondor was at one time? No, something was happening. Something big was coming, and most likely terrifying. Especially since, for whatever reason Boromir was healed and brought forward in time. . .the girls would be right in the middle of it. Were they strong enough? Not just to handle whatever would happen, but to accept the truth about Boromir?

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In Elena's car, a very different conversation was going on. It was, perhaps, a rather odd conversation. . .but still, a rather entertaining one. Elena was shaking her head, laughing as she waved a fry at Kristin and refuted, "No, no, no. There would be no contest between Anakin Skywalker and Jayne Cobb. Nope. Zip, zero, zilch, upso, nada. Jayne can fight dirty, and usually does, but Anakin fights dirty and he's got the power of the Force backing him up. Nope. No contest. Now, seeing what would happen between Obi-Wan and Book would be cool. Or better yet, Obi-Wan and Mal. Now that would be fun. Especially prequel Obi."

"Okay, now that, I don't get," Kristin said, shaking her head, "Book and Obi-Wan, I can see, especially original Obi-Wan, but Mal and Obi-Wan? They're exact opposites!" Elena merely smirked, staring at her best friend's kid sister. That was the beauty of it, though! Look at Anakin and Obi-Wan. They were so different, especially as Obi-Wan matured. And yet, they were such an incredible team before everything went to hell.

As she told Kristin, then thought of an even better example, pointing out, "Think about the differences between Meg and me. Right, they aren't as glaring as the differences between Obi-Wan and Anakin, or Obi-Wan and Mal, but it's the same idea. Opposites complement each other, they complete each other. It's like the old idea of yin and yang. I think Mal and Obi-Wan would make such a cool team because they _are_ so different. But Anakin and Jayne are way too much alike in some ways."

"The weird part of that argument is, it actually makes sense," Kristin muses, and Elena bobbed her head. Of _course_ it made sense. Kristin went on, "Okay, so the next question is, whatever made you and Megan start talking about this? I mean, _Star Wars_ and _Firefly_?" The disbelief in the younger woman's voice made Elena smile. Funny thing was, she had this conversation with her sister Candelaria shortly after Megan first got her into the late tv show.

"Well, both are science-fiction," Elena pointed out, "And what really got Meg's attention was the fusion between her two favorite genres. . .science fiction and Westerns. The two are not easy to meld. . .trust me, the two of us have watched waaaaaay too many B-movies which tried and failed miserably." She smiled fondly at the memory, explaining, "She got me into it, as payback for dragging her to the first _Star Wars_ prequel." Meg had never been a _Star Wars_ fan. . .in fact, Elena had been horrified to learn that her best friend had never even seen the original trilogy by the time _The Phantom Menace_ came out. That would not do. . .oh, no, that would not do at all!

"Yeah, I remember when I was a kid, how she always rolled her eyes when a critic compared any science fiction tv show or movie to _Star Wars_. There was one time she commented that there was science fiction and fantasy long before 1977," Kristin replied. Ye-up. That sounded like Megan, all right. And Elena could just about imagine her tone when she said it. . .exasperation, and just a little indignant. More or less the same tone she used when she reminded Elena that she had lived her life quite well without _Star Wars_ for more than twenty-six years, and she didn't _have_ to do anything, thank you very much!

Of course, that made Elena, who had seen the first prequel six times already, even more determined to get her friend to the cinema. She had no interest in any of the leads. And of all things, what finally got her to go to the movie was. . .Jar Jar Binks. She was curious about the klutzy Gungan. Jar Jar Binks. Elena shook her head. Why couldn't it have been an Ewok that got her best friend's attention initially? Or, at the very least, an Ewok. . .of course, she would have preferred Liam Neeson or Ewan McGregor or Samuel L. Jackson, but even an Ewok was better than Jar Jar Binks!

Of course, once she saw the movie, it took her very little time to find a favorite character. One who wasn't Jar Jar Binks (thank you, God!). Megan was utterly entranced by the young Obi-Wan Kenobi, something that actually shocked Elena. Megan tended to be drawn to. . .older characters, like Qui-Gon or Mace. Usually. On the other hand, they were very similar. Both were young, fiercely determined, and tended to follow the book. They were also quite capable of surprising you. Which reminded her. . . Elena told her companion, chortling a little, "Your sister still doesn't like _Star Wars_, but I did convince her to watch _Attack of the_ _Clones _and _Revenge of the Sith_ with me." Kristin raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised. She was about to be surprised further. Elena explained, "Remember on Geonosis, when they were in the arena? You remember that thing Obi-Wan was facing off with?" Kristin frowned thoughtfully, trying to picture the scene in her mind, then nodded. Heh. This would be fun. The older woman informed her companion, "Well, Megan made the thoroughly shocking statement of, '_you know, that_ _thing after Obi-Wan has better taste in men than Padme does_.' And totally off-the-cuff."

"SHE DID NOT!" Kristin blurted out, her eyes turning into saucers. Elena just laughed and nodded. The pre-med student slumped back into her seat, a stunned expression appearing on her pretty face, muttering, "My sister. . .she doesn't talk like that, and she certainly doesn't think like that! She's quiet and reserved and. . ." She stopped, looked up at Elena, and repeated, "She really said that? 'That thing after Obi-Wan has better taste in men than Padme does.' She said that?"

"She really said that. Megan. . .she's just another woman, like you and I. She may be quiet, but she has the same desires," Elena said. Kristin just looked at her, and the cop understood, sort of, why she was reacting like this. It was, in some ways, akin to her reaction every time she thought about her parents. . . Well, she just didn't want to go there, and to Kristin, Megan was Mommy Two. She didn't want to think of her sister like that. It threatened to upset the balance of her world.

Kristin gave a delicate little shudder, then changed the subject completely, asking, "Did you see the way Dad and Gavin looked at Michael when we met them at the airport?" Elena nodded. Yeah, she noticed and had a little conversation with Megan about it. Kristin mused, "You know, it kinda spooks me. Dr. Daly was the same way. . .and he was always fussing over Michael. He said it was because Michael reminded him of a friend he had, a friend who died, but. . ."

"But what, Kristy?" Elena inquired, smirking a little as Kristin glared at her. 'Kristy' was Megan's pet name for her younger sister, and few others were allowed to use it. That never stopped Elena. After all, she was family. . .it's just that she joined the family a little later than everyone else. When Kristin was silent for several moments, Elena repeated, "But what? I know you spent more time at the hospital than Megan and I did, so you're bound to have picked up something we missed."

"It was the way he looked at Michael sometimes," Kristin said slowly, carefully, "the look in his eyes. So sad, but so full of tenderness. Love, even." She looked back up at Elena, adding, "The way I sometimes see you look at Megan, or the way Megan looks at you. Especially when you're worried about each other. Guys aren't like us, they don't show emotion. . .don't show love. . .the way we do. When Dr. Daly looks at Michael, it's like he's gotten back someone he thought he lost forever. It isn't like he's seeing someone who reminds him of someone else."

Elena nodded thoughtfully. She and Megan noticed the exact same thing, but also chose not to call the doctor on it. Whatever secrets he was hiding. . .it wasn't their concern. The man obviously cared deeply for Michael, for his own reasons, but as long as his secrets didn't hurt their charge, he could keep those secrets. She said as much, adding, "I'm more concerned with your father and your cousin right now. I don't think we should call them on this, either. They'll just deny it, and. . .and I have the feeling Michael will need us. All of us. Can you live with that?" Kristin sighed and looked at the half-eaten cheeseburger in her lap. After a moment, she looked up and nodded resolutely. Right now, they had to make Michael their top priority. He was still healing, still recovering, and still terribly vulnerable. He was their responsibility, and though Elena liked to play the sassy one, she took her responsibilities seriously. All of them.

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Legolas and Haldir reached the prince's home in British Columbia only a few hours after leaving the stables. And not a moment too soon. . .as they rode, both could see the sky darkening over them. Rain wouldn't hurt either of them, of course, but they were also concerned about the horses. Only moments after they finished taking care of their mounts and made their way into the house, the skies opened up in a torrential downpour. Not that either Elf really minded. Still, they had work to do. Legolas' home in British Columbia was, as to be expected, set out in the woods. It was built in the Georgian style. . .not nearly as grand as anything his Elven brethren could build, but Legolas loved it. Built in the late 1850's by a somewhat reclusive author, it remained empty in the years after his death until Legolas bought it in the early twentieth century. It became his favorite retreat, especially after the horrors he saw during the Great War.

As the decades passed in the world of Men, it seemed as if he spent more and more time in this world, and less time in Aman. As Legolas lit the candles around his house, his lips quirked. Aman. . .Atlantis. Talk about mixing stories up. He helped to start the stories of Atlantis among the few humans who saw Aman disappear. Remembering stories about Numenor, he wove the threads of the two stories into one legend that now resounded with mortals all over the world. In the many millennia since Aman finally disappeared, repeated attempts to find the lost Atlantis had been made. It would never be found, not unless the Elves wanted Aman to be found. . .but that seeking remained.

Then again, that was hardly unusual among mortals. Aragorn was like that. . .and so was Boromir. Boromir. Legolas closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the burning candles. Where, exactly, did he start looking for his friend? Was he at least on the right continent? Or would he find the Gondorian in the cities or the outback of Australia? Based on what Galadriel told him and Haldir, it seemed likely that they would find the missing member of the Nine in one of England's former colonies.

Legolas' cell phone began ringing. . .or more accurately, began playing. _The Imperial_ _March_ from _Star Wars_, to be exact. Apparently, the caretakers had the foresight to recharge it after he left the last time, and had the equal foresight to program it with music from one of his favorite set of movies. With an amused smile, he unhooked the charger. . . and his brows furrowed. He recognized that number. Or more to the point, he recognized the area code. That was the area code for Tulsa, Oklahoma.

He pressed the 'receive' button and asked, "Gabriel?" There was a tense little laugh on the other end of the line, and Legolas continued, "How in the name of the Valar did you know I was back in your world?" Gabriel Wainwright was the only person in Tulsa whom he knew, the only one who would have his cell phone number. But every time Legolas and Haldir came into this world, they were the ones who made contact. Not Gabriel. Legolas repeated, "Gabriel?"

"I got an email from an old friend of yours. I figured I'd get your voice mail, rather than you, but in a way this is better," Gabriel began without preamble or a pleasantry of any kind. Most unlike him. The Gabriel Wainwright whom Legolas came to know in this time was quiet and polite, always paying attention to the niceties. Haldir asked him about that once, curious about the differences between Grima and Gabriel. But, it turned out, it had very little to do with Grima, and everything to do with the 1995 attack in Oklahoma City. There was a haunted look in the man's eyes, but all he said was that he learned life was too short not to be polite and kind. There was already such pain in the world, and hatred, why add to it, however minutely, by being rude?

And then he began to think through what Gabriel had said. An old friend. And Gabriel was contacting them. Not the other way around. Before Legolas could ask, the EMT said softly, "I've been in contact with an Irish-born doctor for some months, your Majesty. . .on one of my mailing lists, devoted to people who have lived before. You knew him, too. But when you knew him, he delves within the earth, rather than inside the bodies of people."

Delver. . .? Gimli? Legolas couldn't say a word, couldn't even breathe. Gabriel went on, "He's both the same and different. Taller now. A lot taller. I think he told me once that he was over six feet tall. But he's still fiercely loyal. . .and just as fiercely protective of his friends. One in particular. Someone you apparently lost?" Now the Elf prince's hand was tightening around the cell phone, his heart racing. Gabriel added, his voice filled with infinite gentleness, "He's here, Legolas. In the United States. And up until this morning, he was with Ronan."

Legolas had lived for thousands upon thousands of years. He saw friends die, saw life reborn countless times. Between the things he had experienced and the things he hadn't, the column for the second was much shorter. It was easier for him to say what he hadn't done, as opposed to what he had done. But with the revelation about Boromir, Legolas found himself sinking into a covered chair, his knees suddenly weak. He whispered, "Boromir. . .you know where he is?"

"I know where he is. I got an email from Ronan this morning, apologizing for not telling me sooner. He didn't say, but I kinda got the impression that he was told to wait until Boromir was released into the care of his new guardians. . .and that the being who brought Boromir forward in time was the one who told him. In any event, I can tell you that they're in North Carolina. Ronan lives in the capital city, Raleigh, while Boromir will be living in a small town called Campbell. He's all right, Legolas. . .his wounds from Amon Hen are healing, but there's something very important you have to know," Gabriel explained, his voice still terribly gentle.

Boromir. . . Legolas shook his head. Boromir was with Gimli (more or less), and that meant he was safe. Gimli wouldn't let anything happen to Boromir, he would look after their Gondorian friend until Legolas could get there. Gabriel went on, "Boromir has total amnesia, Legolas. He doesn't remember anything of his previous life. Ronan. . .Gimli wants you to wait before you reveal yourself to him. He doesn't want Boromir to be overwhelmed, and based on what I know of his condition, I agree. I'm speaking as an EMT here, Legolas."

The prince nodded. Yes. Yes, as much as it hurt, he agreed as well. But it didn't matter. He knew Boromir was safe, and he knew where he was, more or less. Gabriel continued, his voice still very gentle, "Would you like to know about the women who are taking care of Boromir?" Legolas made an assenting noise in the back of his throat, and the Oklahoman began, "The first thing you need to know is, he's in very good hands. His current guardians are a pair of cops and a pre-med student." The three women Galadriel had seen in her scrying pool! And Gabriel's information fit, too. . .warriors, protectors, two of the women were.

Haldir approached and Legolas placed his hand over the receiver of his cell phone, whispering, "Gabriel Wainwright. . .he knows where Boromir is." Haldir's eyes widened, ever so slightly. Only another Elf would notice the change. . .or a very good friend. Legolas removed his hand and said, "I understand. How long should we give Boromir, how long do you think it'll take for him to regain his memory?" Legolas, of all people, knew it varied from person to person. But he asked the question not to enlighten himself, but to, as mortals said, bring Haldir up to speed.

Boromir was safe. Until the time came for him to reunite with his lost friend, Gimli would take care of him. Legolas had no idea where Aragorn was in this time, but it wasn't important. Not now. He would find Aragorn, when the time was right. Just as he would meet Boromir, when the time was right. Still, he urged Gabriel, "Tell me. Tell me everything you know, tell me everything you can." _Tell me all of it_.

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The girls were returning, and with them, Nicodemus. Johanna Watkins, born Johanna Klein more than seventy years earlier in Bavaria, looked forward to having her girls home. . .as well as her dog. Ja, it was lonely without her Nicodemus, but when Megan and Elena left more than a week earlier, they needed him far more than she did. Besides, Cal was coming back to Campbell for a two week visit. That made Johanna happy. Not only was her beloved grandson back in town, but it seemed that he would have a chance to spend some time with his old school friend Megan before returning home.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Johanna hoped that Megan and Cal would marry. The young detective was thoroughly infatuated with Johanna's grandson when they were both teenagers, and the widow believed firmly that her neighbor would have made a wonderful wife for her grandson. She still believed that. . .but now, she knew that the pair weren't meant for each other. No, Megan was meant for someone else. . .but she would always need Cal. Just as he would always need her.

She walked back into the living room, carefully carrying the tray of hot tea and peanut butter cookies. . .Cal's favorite. Her grandson was seated in front of her computer, fingers dancing away at the keyboard as he tried to figure out what was wrong with her system. Johanna tried not to smile, hearing her grandson grumble under his breath, using words he really shouldn't know. On the other hand, he was past thirty. . .hardly a child at this point. And he used made-up bad words. Something Johanna always found amusing. Megan tended to swear in Spanish, Elena and Cal swore in made-up languages.

"Have you made any progress?" Johanna asked, carefully settling the tray down on the coffee table and putting her hands on Cal's shoulder. She rested her chin atop Cal's sandy hair, and stared at his reflection in the computer screen. Such a handsome boy he was. Even as a child, he was handsome. Her grandson smiled at her, placing his hands over hers. He leaned back, sighing a little, and Johanna pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. For just a moment, he was twelve years old again and trying to work through a particularly difficult word problem in math.

"Not really. I'm doing something wrong, and I can't figure. . . Grandma! You carried that in by yourself?" Cal demanded, seeing the reflection of the tray in the monitor. Johanna met his gaze steadily, and Cal slumped in his chair, muttering, "I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around." It was an old argument between the pair, dating back to when he was fifteen. . .and her heart attack. She supposed her grandson never really thought about her dying, up until then. After her heart attack, Cal had become ferociously protective of her. . .perhaps even over-protective.

But he wasn't the only one, and she loved them for it. Johanna smoothed her grandson's hair, answering, "I can still carry a tray of tea and cookies, my little one. You have been working on this for hours. Time for you to take a break." Cal started to protest, but Johanna squeezed his shoulders, repeating, "Time for you to rest! Besides, the girls will be home in a few hours with Nicodemus." Cal's eyes softened at the mention of the girls, and the dog. Satisfied that her grandson would do as she asked, Johanna released him and backed away.

"You're a conniving one, Grandma, you know that?" Cal asked as he rose from the computer chair. Johanna just smiled sweetly. It wasn't the first time someone accused her of that, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last either. It wasn't important. She was actually rather proud of her conniving streak. . .it kept her alive, and the people she loved most safe. Cal sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table, asking, "You figure Meg and Leni will need my help when they get home?"

"I think so. Your Great-Uncle David called when they left the Suites," Johanna replied, pouring tea into a cup for the young man. Cal waited patiently, his eyes never leaving her, and at last, Johanna went on, "He told me that they would be bringing a young man with them. . .the reason they went to Raleigh in the first place. And no, that poor child's death was not the only reason they went to Raleigh." Johanna couldn't bring herself to speak Bethany's name. . .it hurt too much.

"I didn't say a word, Grandma," Cal pointed out, "and even if I did, you know I wouldn't be judging either of them. We all have failures we live with, even if they aren't our own failures. I know Meg and Leni would have saved that kid if they could have. . .they just had to figure it out on their own." There was a pause as he stole a cookie from the plate, then Cal added, "What about this guy, anyhow? How does he fit into things?" Good question. Johanna's brother-in-law told her little, because when all was said and done, he didn't know much that she didn't.

"I do not know," she admitted, "but from what Captain Anders told me, it was Megan who made the decision to bring him here, to Campbell." Cal's hand stopped halfway to his mouth, his eyes rounding with shock. Why that was, Johanna didn't know. Then again, Callum never knew Megan's grandfather as well as she did. Craig was one of her first friends in the United States, in Campbell, and as his elder granddaughter grew up, Johanna began to see more and more of her late friend in the girl. Ja, she was also Sayre's granddaughter, but there was far more of Craig in her.

"Just when I think that girl can't surprise me. . .she does," Cal replied, shaking his head in amazement. Johanna just smiled and privately thought that by now, her grandson should be used to his friend's unpredictability. While she was generally quiet and reserved, ever so often, Megan would do something incredibly stunning. . .and then look around in surprise at the shocked looks she garnered with that action. Once a person had a chance to stop and think about the action she had taken, the decision she had made, it made sense. In a weird sort of way.

"He will need us, I think," Johanna told her grandson, "Elena told me that Nicodemus was a great comfort to him. I trust his judgment." Cal's lips quirked at the corner, and Johanna added primly, "Dogs have very good instincts about people, you know. Nicodemus is no exception to that. He was wise enough to know that Megan and Elena could be trusted, and he was but a puppy at the time." Cal ducked his head, but not before she saw the grin threatening to spread across his face.

"I'll do what I can while I'm here, Grandma, you know that. . .but I do have to go back at some point," Cal finally replied, returning to the previous subject. Johanna reached over to pat his hand gently. Yes, she knew that. He was a good boy. Mischievous, cheeky, sometimes bratty, but a good boy for all that. In some ways, he was so much like his grandfather. . .but he was completely his own person. As it should be. Cal popped another cookie into his mouth, saying, "You know, Grandma, you haven't told me once that I should marry Megan while I've been here."

"I realized some time ago that you and Megan were only meant to be friends," Johanna replied. Her grandson looked surprised, but said nothing. Instead, he took a sip of tea, making a face. The widow added, "You know better than that. . .there is ice in the freezer." Cal just made another face, but rolled to his feet and padded into the kitchen. Johanna shook her head. The boy always did that. . .forgot how hot the tea was, and burned his mouth. Silly boy.

She thought again about what they just discussed. Johanna wished Cal could stay longer than he originally planned. . .wished that he could be here to pick up the pieces. Help the young man Megan and Elena were bringing to Campbell find a place to belong. He would need the friendship of a man, and Johanna didn't know how long Megan's cousin planned to be in Campbell. He still had a son, even if the boy didn't want to see him. But Cal had his own life, his own place to belong, and it was up to Michael (if, indeed, that was his name) to find his own place.


	5. The Unexpected

Author's Notes: A new chapter! I'm sorry I keep making you wait two months or more between chapters, but the muses haven't been cooperative lately. However, I'm trying something new. Rather than waiting until I have eighteen pages, I'm going to be varying the chapter lengths. Also, if you'll visit my profile page, I now have a website! Actually, it's one in a collection of websites for my mailing list, the Gwethil, put together by our lone male, Morohtar. It's still under construction, so please be patient. However, on my main page is a selection from David Arkenstone's _Atlantis_. You can also find some of my poetry. And a bit of good news to share with y'all. . .I have a job interview in ten days with the county! For now, we'll see what Megan, Elena, Boromir, and the others are up to!

Chapter Four

The Unexpected

After nearly a half hour of eating, talking, laughing and silliness, the inhabitants of the two cars were ready to get underway once more. In Ronan Daly's minivan, the young stranger called 'Michael' had fallen asleep soon after eating. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be, not even Megan singing the Ma-Na-Ma song woke him up. Nor did Gavin's anguished whimper. Her poor cousin. He would have that song in his head for the next week. Poor baby. Not. It was time he paid for doing it to her on countless occasions while they were growing up. She always told him she'd pay him back, preferably with interest.

Megan looked into the rearview mirror, smiling slightly at this most unlikely of sights: Michael's head had lolled to one side, slowly coming to rest on her cousin's shoulder. She wished she had her camera with her. Blackmail pictures were always a good thing to have with Gavin, especially when he annoyed her. She could threaten to play Air Supply when he rode in her car, or to tell his Marine buddies that he actually sang along with some of the songs. . .but blackmail pictures were much, much better.

Gavin must have known how her mind was working, because he just looked at her with a resigned expression. Megan just smirked and returned her attention to her driving. They would be arriving in Campbell in about fifteen minutes, and reaching her parents' home about ten minutes after that. If things went well, she'd be home in less than an hour. If she got lucky. Well, this was one time when she would make her own luck. She needed to get Michael home to her apartment and put him to bed.

She just hoped the elevator hadn't broken down. The last thing she wanted to do was try to get Michael up the stairs. _I probably should have called. . .wait_. Without taking her eyes from the road, Megan asked, "Dad, could you do me a favor? Call Mrs. Watkins on my cell phone and make sure the elevator is working? I don't want to drag Michael up the stairs in his condition." Her father looked at her, startled, then smiled. She just wished she thought of that sooner. . .like before they left Raleigh. _On the other hand_, she thought as she listened to her father's side of the conversation, _if I'd done that, I wouldn't have had the chance to listen to Dad speaking German_. Megan grinned. She didn't get many opportunities to hear her father speaking languages other than English. While Campbell had its share of immigrants, Megan didn't have much opportunity to see her father interacting with them. Except on holidays. Like the annual Fourth of July picnic.

Mrs. Watkins had always liked Dad, and not just because he could speak German. And every time Megan asked her father where he learned to speak the Teutonic language, he just smiled and changed the subject. Of course, that only served to make her more curious. Her mother didn't know, either. . .or, if she knew, then she wasn't telling. Another smile quirked at the edges of Megan's mouth. She wasn't the only one who was a great deal like her grandmother. Like mother, like daughter.

Her father finished the conversation and smiled, saying, "She said not to worry, the elevator is working just fine. . .and even if it wasn't, Cal would be more than happy to help you with Michael." Cal? He was still in town? Evidently. . .and evidently, he really was visiting his grandmother. It would be good to see him again. Dad paused, then added, "And for once, she didn't sigh over how she wishes you could be her granddaughter by marriage." WHAT? Megan's eyes didn't leave the road, but her father noticed her reaction anyhow. He laughed and said, "I forgot. You didn't know that." Uh. . . no. That was one way of putting it.

"Meg and Cal? I just can't see that. They act. . .well, like Meg and I do," Gavin offered from the backseat. Megan didn't bother looking back at her cousin. He added after a moment, "Besides, I don't see Meg leaving Campbell long term. This town is as much a part of her as. . .well, as she's part of the town. And Cal's happy where he is." Of course he was. But the idea of her and Cal. . .well, it just didn't fit. She loved him, of course. He was one of her dearest friends, and hot. In fact, the term 'drop-dead gorgeous' was coined for men like Cal. But. . .

It just wasn't right between them. Not like that. But it would be so good to see Cal again. Sighing, Megan removed one hand from the steering wheel to rub at her forehead. That was something else. Once she got back to the apartment and got Michael settled, she needed a few aspirin. And maybe a nap. She rolled her shoulders and her father observed in a low voice, "Just drop us off in front of the house, baby. Gavin and I can carry everything in. Just get yourself and that boy to your apartment."

She managed to shoot him a quick look, just as they crossed into Campbell, and he added, "I'm serious, honey. You look exhausted." Then her father winked at her, and glanced into the rearview mirror. Megan followed his lead, then smiled slightly, understanding what he was doing. . .what he did best, taking care of his daughters. Her mother was looking at her, somewhat concerned. Of course. Dad had known that Mama would likely want her to stay at the house for a few hours. He winked at her again, and said a little louder, "We can wait a few days to show off our goodies, can't we, Ailsa?"

"Of course we can. Your father's right, sweetheart. Go home and get some rest, and get that boy settled. Now, Gavin. . .you never did answer my question on the flight. Are you seeing some nice girl? You're still young, after all, and there's no reason you can't find a perfectly sweet young lady. It's bad enough that Megan and Kristin are in no hurry to get married, you've been divorced a few years, and it's time for you to get settled down," Mama replied, turning her full attention to Megan's cousin. _Never look a gift horse in the mouth_. That was a favorite saying of Captain Anders, and right now, Megan agreed with it whole-heartedly.

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Thank the Valar Gimli couldn't see him now. He would endure no end of teasing about this particular picture. But Gavin made no attempt to shift Boromir. . .Michael. . .away from him. For one thing, the man was still injured and he didn't want to run the risk of causing him further pain. For another. . .he was just too grateful to have the man back in his life. Grateful that he was alive. For that reason, he'd tolerate the teasing he knew he'd get from Megan later. He already noticed the way she was smirking at him in the rearview mirror.

Still, he'd rather deal with Megan's teasing than Ailsa's endless matchmaking attempts. Even when Megan's singing put a particular song in his head. . .and that song stayed there for the next week. Because, of course, she always had to choose the most irritating tunes imaginable. He replied, trying to distract her from the subject of his love life, "Actually, I've been thinking about taking a cross-country train trip with Reese. He's been making overtures lately, and I've been trying to work something out. Maybe when he's not in classes." Ailsa's mouth turned up, but she said nothing. She didn't have to say anything, he knew exactly what she thought of his son.

But Reese _was_ his son, and it wasn't in Gavin Rafferty to turn his back. Not a second time, not when Reese's mother did so much damage to the boy in the first place. He was only now starting to realize that Gavin wasn't the monster he was made out to be. And not surprisingly, he was angry. He was angry with his mother for painting herself as the victim, and he was just as angry with Gavin for letting her do it. Megan asked quietly from the front seat, "Any ideas where you want to go?"

Gavin smiled at her gratefully, replying, "Well, we're still talking about that. Do we want to go from the Atlantic to the Pacific, up the Atlantic Coast, up the Pacific? We have a lot of possibilities open to us. Reese also mentioned the possibility of going out West and taking part in a recreation of a wagon train. His new girlfriend is into Westerns and such." Girlfriend. Gavin shuddered. His son had a girlfriend. On the other hand, at least Aubrey was a decent girl. Not nearly as shallow or self-centered as Reese's previous girlfriend, Melora, who seemed like a younger clone of Gavin's ex-wife.

Whoever said that a man was likely to marry a woman who reminded him of his mother didn't know what they were talking about. Okay, his mother wasn't a saint, any more than Ailsa was. . .or Sayre was. . .but for damn sure, she was nothing like the bimbette he married. Gavin had no illusions about himself. He wasn't a good husband. It wasn't because of the Corps. While being in the military made things more difficult, the problem was, Gavin just wasn't mature enough at nineteen to be married. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was mature enough at thirty-nine!

So when Ailsa started hassling her two girls about finding a man and settling down, Gavin often intervened. It was apples and oranges, of course. . .Megan and Kristin were their own people. But one of the reasons he got married at such a young age was because it seemed like the 'thing to do.' He was out of high school, starting a life of his own, and he wasn't sure about the difference between lust and love. Besides, Kristin and Megan were more or less happy as they were. When the time was right, they would settle down.

Megan said now, on the subject of his road trip with his son, "Wherever you go, you'll have fun. When Elena and I get a few days off, we'll take the train up to Richmond or Washington. Do you remember back in 2002, when we went to those seminars in DC? We took the train then and loved it." Gavin did remember. It was the March after the attacks, and though the two girls were fine with flying, Elena's grandmother begged them to take ground transportation instead. Besides, the train was far more affordable. As the saying went, '_you can't get there from here_,' particularly where the airlines were concerned. So, the train it was. And, as Megan has said, they loved it.

"I think what worries him more than anything else is the food. And unfortunately, telling him that it's no worse than the school cafeteria didn't help matters much," Gavin replied. Megan laughed softly at that. Gavin just smiled, pleased to make her laugh. She was entirely too serious. Besides, he owed her for not believing her about his ex-wife. Just because she was twelve years old didn't meant she didn't know anything about people. He wouldn't go so far as to say that she had good judgment where people were concerned at that age. . .just that she was right on that count.

Hell, who was a good judge of character, really, when they were twelve? But what had Meg seen that he missed? On the other hand, he was a hormonally charged nineteen year old male. Maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised that the twelve year old saw things he didn't. Could it have been in the condescending way she spoke to Meg? That possibility was a strong one. Even at twelve, she hated being patronized. True enough, most people hated it, but that was always a good way of setting the usually even-tempered youngster off.

And did it really matter, what she saw that Gavin missed? She was right, he was wrong, and he should have listened to her. He shouldn't have dismissed what she told him. While she would have told him that there was no need to apologize, that she was only twelve at the time, Gavin didn't see it that way. She was one of the most important people in the world to him. Even if she did force him to listen to Air Supply when he rode with her. . .or one of her infernal soundtracks. Honestly, what was wrong with Kid Rock or Metallica or Poison?

The last time he asked her that, she shrugged and replied, "Nothing. Elena loves them. I don't. Be grateful that I don't ask you to listen to my _Star Wars_ soundtracks." Ugh. If it was the original trilogy, that would have been one thing, but for some reason, she had the prequel soundtracks. He still couldn't figure out what he had done wrong with her on that score. She absolutely refused to see the original trilogy when they came out, and yet, she saw the prequels. He had failed her in some respect. That was all there was to it.

He caught her eye as she glanced back at him and Boromir again. Oh, she would _so_ hassle him about this! Gavin just shook his head, careful to avoid waking Boromir. And then something occurred to him, remembering the earlier conversation between Francis and Megan, after Francis called his daughter's apartment building. With a smile perhaps best described as 'evil,' Gavin tilted his head back and made eye contact with Megan, observing, "So, Meggie. . .Cal's in town, huh?" He was rewarded with a singularly unpleasant expression, and Gavin smirked, continuing, "Yup, I remember when you used to have a crush on him. What was it that you wrote in your notebooks?" The intensity of the glare was turned up to full watt, and Gavin smirked. Only to wince as Ailsa smacked him in the back of his head. Again. What was it with her and smacking him? Uh, right. How silly of him to forget. . .he was giving her daughter a hard time.

"Just remember, Gavin. . .I remember a lot more than just your ex-wife. Let's see here. Didn't you have a crush on Jennet Harper, when you, Uncle Daniel and Aunt Naomi first moved here? I mean, I was all of seven at the time, but if I recall correctly, you certainly paid a lot of attention to Jennet," Megan retorted as she guided the van onto the street where she grew up. Gavin glared at her again. No fair, bringing up Jennet! Besides, that was different. He had a crush on Jennet, he wasn't halfway in love with her, as Megan was with Cal Watkins.

"Actually, daughter, you probably remember the name of every girl your cousin has dated," Francis teased gently. Okay, that wasn't even nice. . .even if it was true. Megan just smirked at him in the rearview mirror (again), and then Francis observed, "Damn, it's good to be home. Gavin, lay him down in the seat after Ailsa gets out of the van." Oh. Good point. He hadn't thought of that. Megan pulled into the driveway and slid the gear into 'park.' She dropped her head onto her folded arms, which were draped over the steering wheel. Francis rubbed the back of her neck, leaning in to kiss her right temple at the same time. She raised her head and smiled at him wearily. Francis murmured, "Get some rest, baby girl. We'll talk to you in a few days."

"The day after tomorrow, at the latest. . .give us a few days to rest and that poor young man time to settle in," Ailsa said firmly. Gavin turned his attention to Bor. . .to Michael (damn, would he ever get that right?), gently easing his head from the Marine's shoulder, then slid him down onto the seat. Ailsa observed, "Buckle him in, Gavin, so he doesn't slide around. We don't want the poor boy hurt further, after all." She hopped out the other side, then circled around the front. . .no doubt, to say good-bye to her daughter. Gavin turned his attention back to the injured man, now resting peacefully on the cushion. He gazed at the lost child of Arda for a long moment, and then smiled. Not today. But soon. They would have all the time in the world.

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Things seldom turn out the way you expect them. Whether you were talking about a single day. . .or a life. That was something her father told her once, when she was about fifteen or sixteen. She couldn't remember why. . .she was upset about something. Mom had been dead for about eight or nine years at that point, and her father had no idea how to deal with a child, much less a grieving child, even if that grieving child was also his own. He was too devastated by her death. Li Trask had died in a traffic accident, a stupid car accident. . .but looking at this man today, her daughter wondered if Li might have fallen victim to this man eventually. No, not this man. This monster.

And Dalton Robeson _was_ a monster. There was no other way to say it. He was a monster. He sat opposite Lydia Anders, looking so innocuous, so very harmless. He looked like a nice man. He did. Dalton Robeson's light brown hair was neatly trimmed, and his bright blue eyes seemed to hold only warmth. His smile was friendly, even as the poison fell from his lips. If she was in a different occupation, Arabella Trask might have wondered what made this being into a monster. Few people were born bad, born evil. But her specialty was forensics, not psychology, and she wasn't even sure if she cared why Dalton Robeson was what he was.

This morning, the sandy-haired man sitting so placidly at the table had dismissed the defender provided for him. Not that she was especially sorry about that. She just wished it wasn't necessary to talk to the slimeball. At all. Lydia sat in front of him, her face relaxed. But her hands were clenched into fists under the table, and someone who knew her well (like Elly) could feel her tension. She said in a quiet, calm voice, "So you admit to killing Bethany Lawson?" That much was established. Against the advice of his previous lawyer, Robeson admitted to doing just that. Her next line of defense was the insanity plea. Of course. And while Elly was no psychologist, even she could see this man was totally sane. Evil, but sane, and one hundred percent capable of standing trial.

"Of course I did. We've already established that I killed the little mongrel. Besides, I'm sure you have more confidence in your detectives than that. Lovely women, those two. Even Detective Rafferty. Something of a disappointment, though. Lovely women, excellent detectives, very professional. . .but still a disappointment. Really. Then again, the South as a whole has been a disappointment. I would have thought the birthplace of the Ku Klux Klan would be more. . .supportive of my aims. Especially a small town like this," Robeson replied, lounging back in his seat with a casual grin.

"You shouldn't pay so much attention to Hollywood, Mr. Robeson. They have a very skewed view of people who live in small towns, and an even more skewed view of those who live in the South," Elly said mildly, speaking for the first time. He looked up at her, his eyes raking over her body appreciatively. Elly, however, maintained eye contact with him, refusing to allow him even the small victory of averting her eyes. She continued after a moment, "And you'll find that this is a very close-knit community. One that will not easily forgive you for Bethany Lawson's murder."

"Make that, not at all," said the third member of the interrogation team. Unlike Elly and Lydia, he was born and raised in Campbell. Detective Andrew MacTavish was, in some ways, the very image of a small-town Southern sheriff, Hollywood-style. In his late forties, Andrew's gut hung over his belt and his cheeks were usually red from exertion. But he was a damn good detective, in part because he used his dumb hick persona to his benefit, often to the amusement of his partner, Rafael Santucci.

It was actually funny to watch him and his partner play off each other. Andrew was born and raised here in North Carolina, just like Mayor Farrell and the Rafferty girls, and half the town. Rafe Santucci, on the other hand, was originally from Chicago, and the two men looked enough alike to be mistaken for brothers. Something else the pair used to their advantage. Oh yes, and there was something else about MacTavish. Something the police captain clearly remembered. She smiled sweetly, observing, "Especially since Detective MacTavish has three adopted children. . .one from China, one from Vietnam, and one from the Ukraine."

"Pure bloods? That's all right, then. I don't have a problem with them. Just with mongrels," Robeson answered, almost casually. Mongrels. Elly swallowed hard, wanting to do something. He sat here so easily, so casually, as if he was in the drawing room of one of the town's ladies. There was no fear, no trepidation, nothing of the sort. As if they were nothing to him.

"Mongrels? Pure bloods? Bethany Lawson was a human bein,' you worthless pile a' manure!" Andrew spat. Elly had no doubt that he would have used stronger language, but there were two ladies present and Andrew MacTavish was a gentleman. That was one of the things that surprised her when she arrived here. . .in Campbell, in North Carolina, in the South. A man actually apologized to her when he said 'damn' in her presence. It was something she liked. . .liked a lot.

"A human being, with two parents who loved her very much, and a very bright future. Not that I'll bore you with those details. After all, your kind doesn't care about girls like Bethany Lawson. Your kind doesn't care that she was planning to be an archaeologist, that she saw her future field as being sort of a detective of history. You see her as an impurity, a stain you have to remove. But you're the stain on humanity, Mr. Robeson. Not that sweet girl you tortured and murdered," Lydia snapped.

"My kind? My kind? What, exactly, do you think my kind is, Captain? Hmm?" Robeson fired back, sitting upright in his chair. His bright blue eyes sparked with fury, as he continued, "My kind? You're the same kind as I am, Captain Anders." _Oooh, no_. _No, he did not just say that_. But a glance at the blonde police captain told her that he did, indeed, say that. Lydia's blue eyes had turned to ice chips. Bad move.

"The same kind who put my wife's grandparents to death fifty years ago, for the ultimate sin of being different," Andrew chimed in. Robeson's attention shifted to him, the murderer's lower lip curling, and the Southern detective continued, "Gypsies. Undesirables. Whatever you wanna call 'em." Now that, she hadn't known. However, it didn't surprise her, now that she thought about it. Andrew shook his head in disgust, adding, "Then again, your kind eventually meet their proper end."

"How. . .interesting. Tell me something, Detective. . .did they hire you out of Central Casting?" Robeson sneered, his lower lip curling with obvious disgust. MacTavish merely stared back. Elly was on the verge of saying. . .something. . .when the door opened. Lydia looked up, her brows drawing together. Robeson's expression lightened at the sight of a red-haired woman. A charming smile lit his face as he said, "And here's my lawyer. . .though I wasn't told she'd be quite so lovely." Talk about Jekyll and Hyde! Not that Elly was especially impressed. She wasn't the only one. The woman looked at him as if he was a bug she found squashed under her shoe, causing Elly and Lydia to exchange a glance.

"On the contrary," the redhead answered, "I'm here on behalf of Zarina Andrews." Zarina Andrews? Elly and Lydia exchanged a surprised look. Who, exactly, was Zarina Andrews? The woman turned to the police captain and the coroner, her expression warming considerably. She smiled, extending her hand as she said, "I'm Bronwyn Harris. I apologize for barging in like this, but I was told you were questioning Dalton Robeson about the murder of Bethany Lawson. I don't have information regarding that murder, but I do believe that Mr. Robeson is responsible for a similar murder in Washington State. . .Noreen Andrews."

The smile fell away from Robeson's face at the mention of the woman's name. Bronwyn Harris evidently noticed this as well, for she added with a wicked grin, "Since Zarina Andrews was eight years old when her mother was murdered, I was brought in to act as her advocate." So this mysterious Ms. Harris was a child's advocate. Elly heard of those lawyers, but to the best of her knowledge, they were mainly found in the larger cities. So how did she find out about Bethany's murder?

Lydia was apparently thinking the same thing, because she asked, "Two questions. First, why did they let you into a private interrogation? Secondly, how did you even know about the Lawson case? This is a small town, Counselor. . .sure, we'd get on the evening news in Raleigh, but how would someone from Seattle know about it?" Elly briefly considered pointing out to her friend that they didn't know Ms. Harris was from Seattle, then decided it just wasn't worth it.

"I'll answer the second question first. I have friends who knew about the case. When they realized that the modus operandi matched the murder of Zarina's mother, they forwarded the information to me. As to the first question. . .I told them that I was Mr. Robeson's lawyer," Ms. Harris replied. And since the other officers knew that Robeson dismissed his lawyer, they had no reason not to believe them. The child advocate added, "Since my firm also handles defense cases, that only added to my credibility."

Point taken. Lydia just smiled wryly, saying, "I still need to have a talk with my officers. I'm Captain Lydia Anders, that's Detective Andrew MacTavish, and this is our coroner, Dr. Arabella Trask." Ms. Harris smiled and shook first Lydia's hand, then Elly's, then finally Andrew's. Lydia continued, "I do think we're finished here, so Detective MacTavish, if you could return Mr. Robeson to his cell? Then join Dr. Trask, Ms. Harris and myself in my office, we'll see what new light can be shed on this case." Andrew smiled and drew Robeson to his feet. Elly returned her own attention to Bronwyn Harris. A child advocate. There was definitely more to this case than any of them realized. Curiouser and curiouser!

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Across town, Callum Watkins had taken a seat in front of his grandmother's apartment building. It was a little chillier than he was accustomed to, but a sweatshirt kept him warm enough. He was on the look-out for a mini-van. Cal snorted and shook his head. Megan Rafferty driving a mini-van. Now this, he had to see. His school friend never liked driving anything bigger than a Jeep. She felt like it was too big for her to control. The problem wasn't control, as Cal saw it. . .but it _was_ harder to maneuver a larger car. And Megan wasn't a big woman to begin with.

About fifteen minutes after his grandmother shooed him out of her apartment, a minivan made its way into the parking lot. Even from his seat, Cal could see Megan at the wheel. Long before a sassy honk came from the vehicle, he knew it was her. He rose to his feet, waving as he did. The minivan came to a careful stop in one of the parking spaces, and Cal winced a little. _Need to work on your parking, Meg_, he thought. She was almost halfway over the line. _After I help her get this Michael character settled into the apartment_, Cal decided, _I can come back down and move the van before someone smacks into it. And we __**don't**__ want that, especially since it's someone else's vehicle_. As he reached the minivan, the driver's side door swung open, and out jumped Megan. Cal opened his arms wide, bellowing, "Hey, swamp rat!" She smiled at him broadly, getting the reference instantly, but before she could respond, Cal scooped her up into a fierce embrace, spinning her around.

Megan squealed, "Cyclops!" She squeaked then, grabbing a hold of him as her feet left the ground. Detective or not, she was still the girl he remembered from elementary school. Still short, still squealed and squeaked when you spun her around. Cal hugged her one last time, then set her on her feet, grasping her shoulders to look at her fully. The haunted look his grandmother told him about. . .it was still there, but not as bad. Cal knew the look she meant. He saw it when his brother and sister firefighters found people they weren't able to save for whatever reason. You never really got over it. But in time, it became manageable.

There were a few strands of silver in her dark brown hair, he noted, but that was to be expected. Hell, in their line of work, it was a wonder there weren't more! There were a few more lines around her mouth that weren't there the last time they saw each other. But even with these additions, she still looked like the young girl he remembered. Of course, to his grandmother, she was a young girl, even at thirty-two. Megan endured his gaze for several moments, then she sighed with some exasperation, "Take a picture, Callum, it'll last longer."

Cal laughed and hugged her again, saying, "Damn, it's good to see ya, girl!" He yelped as Megan swatted his butt, but smirked and continued, "Now, before Gramma gets all upset, let's see to this Michael of yours and get him inside." Megan hugged him fiercely, an embrace designed to take his breath away, then released him. She slid open the side door of the mini-van, revealing a man lying inside. Cal raised his eyebrows and started to say something, but Megan punched his shoulder.

"Not a word. He slept most of the way home. C'mon. Elena should be here in just a minute or so, and I'd really like to at least have the wheelchair out before she gets here," she warned. Cal nodded and slipped around to the back of the van. It was open, he was gratified to learn, and the wheelchair was leaning against the side of the vehicle. Cal lifted it out carefully, studying it. Okay, he was familiar with this model. Within moments, he had it open and secured. With a proud grin, he wheeled it around to the side of the van, where Megan was carefully awakening her passenger. A sleepy groan made her smile, and she crawled into the van. Cal remained where he was, figuring this was where he needed to be.

On her knees in front of the bench, Megan was carefully unbuckling the man, and then helped him to sit up. Her small hands gripped his arms as she eased him into a sitting position. With him upright, Cal left the wheelchair and approached. Meg would need help getting him out. The man's head whipped around, blond hair flying about his face, and for the first time, Cal got a good look at him. He was older than Meg and Cal, in his late thirties or early forties, with shoulder-length dark blond hair, a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache, and green eyes. Cal heard of laser-beam blue eyes (his ex-girlfriend had 'em), but this was the first time he ever heard of laser-beam green eyes. He was being studied closely, and Cal wasn't sure if he should be offended or pleased. The guy was obviously protective of his old friend. After a moment, he decided to be pleased. After all, the poor guy had no way of knowing how long he'd been friends with Meg. The young detective whispered, "Friend, Michael. Cal."

Michael relaxed and offered a half-smile to Cal, answering hoarsely, "Friend. . .Cal." Right. He'd forgotten that this guy didn't speak much (if any) English. Still, he returned the man's smile and reached his hands out cautiously, to indicate he wanted to help the man. Slowly, carefully, with Meg's help, Michael began sliding across the seat toward Cal. As he reached the edge, Cal stepped forward and put a supportive arm around Michael's waist, allowing Megan to scramble out of the way. Michael gingerly leaned against Cal as the cop and firefighter eased him first to the floor of the van, then out of the vehicle. It was a slow, painstaking process. . .by the time Megan pushed the wheelchair forward, Michael was sweating profusely and his face was much paler. He sank into the wheelchair gratefully, closing his eyes.

Cal made a mental note to ask Meg later what the hell happened to the poor guy. As he helped him out of the vehicle, Cal heard him trying to hold back groans of pain. Megan knelt in front of the chair, resting a gentle hand on Michael's leg. He raised his head and offered her a weak smile. She smiled back, raising her head when Elena's Saturn roared into the parking lot. Since Nico wasn't with Meg, it stood to reason that he would be with her partner. And yup. . .there was Nico's head, sticking out of the window. Stupid dog. Cal shook his own head, trying not to smile as Elena drew to a halt, a few spaces away. Through the window, he could see Nico's tail wagging fiercely, smacking Elena in the head repeatedly. Cal snickered. Poor Elena. He hoped she had headache pills with her. Whatever variety she used.

"So what's his story?" Cal asked in an undertone. His grandmother really didn't tell him much. Megan's sigh and expression told him that it would be a long story. He squeezed her shoulder and added, "Not to worry, swamp rat. . .you can tell me later." Another sigh emerged from his old friend, but this was a sigh of relief. He squeezed her shoulder again, trying very hard not to smile as Elena emerged from the car, a long-suffering look on her face. Apparently, he wasn't nearly as successful as he hoped it was, because Elena shot him a nasty look and flipped him off, European-style.

She opened the passenger door, and Nico shot out, making a beeline for Cal. The wretched little swamp rat pulled Michael's wheelchair back a little, making sure he wasn't struck by the wagging tail of the very enthusiastic dog. However, Nico was too happy to see Cal for the firefighter to be anything but affectionate with the dog. That didn't stop him, however, from shooting his nastiest glares at Elena. She just smiled sweetly, and told Megan, "Your cousin is going to kill you, you know." Megan's smile just broadened, to the point of being downright wicked.

That, of course, got Cal's attention. Megan just smirked, cocked her head to one side, and stated, "Ma-Na-Na-Ma." _Huh? Oh. Oh, no, she did not_! She started singing the Ma-Na-Na-Ma song from _The Muppet Show_? Megan's smile grew all the more wicked, though he hadn't thought that was possible. She observed as she began pushing Michael toward the apartment building, "He'll have that song in his head for the next week. It's the least I can do, after he called them on vacation to tell them about. . ." Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her smile flickered. Then it was back again, as she added, "He had it coming to him." Uh. . .yeah. Cal supposed he did.

They began walking toward the apartment building together, Elena explaining, "When I left him, he was clutching his head and moaning, 'when I get my hands on her, I'll strangle her.' Of course, it didn't help that your mom and Kristin were starting to sing it as well." Cal burst out laughing. Yeah, he could just see Ailsa doing that, too! As they walked, he noticed Michael trying to look around at first. . .but after just a few minutes, he sighed and leaned his head back. _There's plenty of time to look around, buddy, _Cal thought_, just rest for now_.


	6. Never Alone

Author's Note: I am so sorry this has taken so long. I've been fighting with the characters (when I'm not being driven crazy by notes for my _Star Wars_ fic). Plus, I've had some family problems. It's kind of a long story, but the short version is, my sister-in-law has been prevented from joining my brother at his new post in Georgia because of her father and her ex-husband. We're hoping that it will be resolved at the court date next week, so I ask everyone to keep my brother, sister-in-law and the little ones in their prayers. Whoever you talk to Upstairs. I had originally planned to make this a fifteen page chapter, but decided that where I left it was. . .well, you'll see. Enjoy the chapter, and have a lovely Thanksgiving (for my fellow Americans).

Chapter Five

Never Alone

Who _was_ that man with Detective Megan? She knew Mr. Cal and she knew Detective Elena, but who was the man in the wheelchair? Nine-year-old Cissie Moncrieff peered around the door of their apartment as Detective Megan, Detective Elena, and Mr. Cal stepped out of the elevator. She'd lived here as long as she could remember (though Mom said that they used to live somewhere else, back when Cissie was just a baby), but she couldn't remember ever seeing Detective Megan with a man other than Mr. Cal or Detective Megan's daddy. Or her cousin, Sergeant Gavin, who was like Detective Megan's big brother. But never this man.

They wheeled him down to Detective Megan's apartment and Cissie pulled back into her own apartment, frowning thoughtfully. Maybe this was a mystery, like in the Nancy Drew books her daddy read to her when she was little. Cissie really liked Nancy Drew. She was pretty and smart and brave. . .everything Cissie wanted to be. She told her daddy that once, and he smiled. She didn't understand why he was smiling until he put his arm around her and told her that she already was. Cissie didn't feel brave. She was scared a lot of the time, especially when she saw Mom cry.

Nancy Drew was brave. Daddy was brave. So was Detective Megan. Even if Mom didn't like her. Cissie asked Mom once why she didn't like Detective Megan. Mom just looked at her sadly and said sometimes, grown-ups didn't like each other. They got along well enough. But while Mom trusted Detective Megan to take care of Cissie on her days off, they didn't talk, not like Detective Megan did with Miss Johanna. Or with Mr. Cal. Miss Johanna told her there was once a time when Mom and Detective Megan were friends, back in high school. And when Cissie asked Mom about it, there was a pained look in her eyes. She only asked about it once, just so Mom wouldn't have that look in her eyes again.

"What's so interesting out there, sweetheart?" Mom asked as Cissie wandered into the dining room and peeked at what her mother was doing. She was paying bills. Ew. Mom said that paying bills meant they kept their home and could do things, but she still thought there were better ways to spend a day than paying bills. Cissie sat down beside her mother, leaning her head against her shoulder.

"Detective Megan and Detective Elena are back, Mom. Mr. Cal is helping them with some man in a wheelchair. I don't know who he is, but they took him to Detective Megan's apartment," Cissie replied. Then she remembered something else and beamed, adding, "And Nico's with them. I think he likes the man." She liked Nico. Besides, she knew that Miss Johanna was lonely without Nico. Cissie's mom frowned and looked up from writing the checks.

"A man in a wheelchair? With Megan and Elena? Johanna did say that there was a critically injured man in Raleigh, and that was why they were going up there," Mom murmured, almost too quietly for Cissie to hear her. Almost. Mom smoothed Cissie's hair, frowning thoughtfully. The child herself was curious about what Mom knew, about this mysterious visit to Raleigh by her two favorite detectives. Mom looked at Cissie, asking next, "This man. . .what did he look like, baby?"

"I didn't see him real well," the youngster admitted, "but he had blond hair. Kinda long, like Mr. Cal's hair when he came back to Campbell, before Miss Johanna asked him to cut it." Mom smiled at that, and Cissie smiled, too. Mom once told her that Mr. Cal didn't really like having longer hair, but let it grow out because his girlfriend liked it long. Cissie thought he was cute, either way. Boys were yucky, but Mr. Cal was cute. So was Sergeant Gavin.

"Well, I'm sure we'll find out about him soon enough. For now, young lady, it's time for your bath!" Mom said. Cissie pulled a face. Mom poked her in the sides, making the girl giggle and squirm. Mom laughed a little and turned her around, giving her a gentle swat. She added as Cissie headed for the bathroom, "And if you're good, we may have a treat after dinner tonight. But only if you're good. That means no sass, no unkind remarks." Cissie was on the verge of protesting, when Mom added, "Telling someone they smell is unkind, Narcissa Kaye."

"But she did," Cissie pointed out, "she smelled like she just farted." Mom sighed, rubbing her forehead with two fingers, the way she always did when she was talking on the phone to a customer who wasn't really nice and wouldn't listen. Sometimes, Cissie didn't understand. Mom said that she wasn't s'posed to lie, but she wasn't s'posed to tell the truth, either. There were times when Cissie really wished she were a grown-up. It seemed like her mom said, 'you'll understand when you're a grown-up,' an awful lot. She'd understand why she wasn't supposed to lie, but wasn't supposed to tell the truth, either. She'd understand why Mom didn't like Detective Megan, but trusted her with Cissie anyhow. Mom said quietly, "Oh, sweetheart. I have never said that I don't like Megan. I said that we don't get along." Ooops. . .Cissie didn't mean to say that out loud. Mom continued, "And we don't get along, because of something that happened a long time ago. Something Megan has never forgiven me for. Or maybe she's forgiven me, she just doesn't trust me. But either way, she and I both love you. Whatever my quarrel with Megan might be, I know she would sacrifice her own life before she would allow any harm to come to you. And that, my dearest Cissie, is all that matters."

She kissed Cissie's forehead and said, "Now. We'll find out about Megan's mysterious visitor later. Right now, bath!" Mom put her hands on Cissie's shoulders, turned her about, and swatted her butt. Cissie gave a small protest, just to keep up appearances, but made her way to the bathroom. She thought about what her mother just said, about trust and forgiveness. . .and decided she really didn't want to be a grown-up. Not yet.

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God, but she hated elevators. Usually, it wasn't so bad, but the one in the apartment building was old and rather small. And there were three able-bodied people, plus a man in a wheelchair and a dog, in that small space. Both Elena and Cal tried to distract her. . . Elena with tales of her conversation with Kristin on the way home, and Cal with his customary teasing. And poor Michael. . .he just looked exhausted and Megan resolved to get him settled as soon as humanly possible. His head lolled on the back of the wheelchair, his shoulders slumped. Megan barely stifled the urge to stroke his hair. If she touched him, she might disturb him. No. Let him rest.

As they exited the elevator, Megan noticed her nine-year-old neighbor, Cissie Moncrieff, poke her head out of her mother Lorelei's apartment. Megan summoned up a smile for the curious youngster, who grinned brightly at her before staring at Michael with obvious astonishment. Well, it really shouldn't surprise her. . .it wasn't as if she often brought men home. At least, not men outside her own family. Trouble was, Cissie would no doubt tell Lorelei, and that was one headache Megan just didn't need. Especially not right now.

Still, there was no help for it. Megan instead chose to enjoy the semi-fresh air in the hallway. Someone opened one of the windows in the corridor. It felt good now, but she hoped someone remembered to close it. It was December, after all, and it would get damn cold. Besides, there was the security issue. They weren't on street level, but that was beside the point. If someone was determined enough, they could get in. That didn't mean the apartment complex had to make things easier for them.

Mama once teased her, when she made that statement at dinner, that Megan couldn't just turn off being a cop. Well, that was true. But Megan also remembered a few scares she received when she was at college, of people getting into dorms when they didn't belong there. It wasn't something she ever shared with her parents. Her mother tended to worry about her as it was. . .her oldest daughter, away at college. No, she wasn't really alone, not with Elena there to watch her back, but that wasn't the point. Her mother worried about her. . .that was what mothers did, and Megan was determined not to give her mother any additional reason to worry.

At last, they reached the door to her apartment, and Megan breathed in. Home at last. She hadn't been here in nearly two weeks, and right now, walking into her apartment felt like walking into the arms of an old friend she hadn't seen in forever. It wasn't much, really. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen and small living room, but it was hers. It had her personality in the rooms. She paid the rent with her own money. Megan might not have owned it, but it was still hers.

Perhaps it was an odd thing to occur to a thirty-two year old woman, but the simple fact was, Megan was often too busy to look at the fruit of her labors. As Cal wheeled Michael into the living room, Megan followed with Elena and looked around her apartment with new eyes. The furniture was used, items she picked up at the mainstays of many first apartments or houses, the flea market and the yard sales. Except for the rocking chair, which her grandmother left her, and its companion, the quilt made by her great-grandmother while that worthy lady was pregnant.

Her kitchen cabinets held much the same. . .extra-large cups she'd gotten from various restaurants, cups and glasses that came with Happy Meals when she was a child (or whatever they were). Very few things in her apartment were new, but that didn't bother her. This was hers, including the cracks in the bathroom floor, which were created when, it flooded. Hers. The not-so-subtle clearing of someone's throat interrupted her reverie. Megan looked up, remembering that she wasn't alone. Cal asked softly as he wheeled Michael inside, "Want me to stay?"

Stay? Cal looked at the sleeping Michael, then at the confused Megan, explaining in that soft voice, "I know you're a strong woman, Meg. But he's gonna need some help with, uhm, private matters." Pri. . .oh. OH! Megan felt her face burning with embarrassment. Idiot. She should have thought of that herself. She managed to take everything into account, except for that. The trouble was, Cal was here visiting his grandmother, and Megan didn't want to intrude. Cal, showing that perceptiveness that drove her crazy when they were teenagers, added, "My grandmother will be fine without me, with Nico back. And she would skin me alive if I left you to fend for yourself and him."

"Take the offer and run," Elena advised. She looked around, adding, "That reminds me. Where do you want to put Michael? I mean, I realize you have a spare bedroom, but we want to make it easy for him to reach the bathroom if he needs to go." Megan nodded, her mind skipping along. In the end, there was only one thing she could say.

After flashing a grateful smile at Cal, she told Elena, "Let's take him into my room, and I'll sleep on the couch." Or some place. The point was, the bathroom adjoined her bedroom, and as Elena pointed out, he was in no condition to walk. And right now, she was just so tired, she didn't care where she slept, as long as she got some rest. Megan continued, "Would you mind taking Nico down to Johanna's apartment, 'Lena? I really want to get Michael settled."

"Claro. Vamos, cachorrito," her best friend replied, lightly slapping the palm of her hand against her thigh. Nico licked Michael's hand, then pranced after Elena. The other cop stopped at the still-open door, adding, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Cal, don't let her down anything that will end up hurting her. You know how she is." This was said with a slight eye-roll. Megan stuck her tongue out at her friend, who retorted, grinning, "Lo siento, but you're not my type, amiga."

"Besa mi nalga," Megan fired back, making Elena laugh yet again. Her friend sashayed out of the apartment, taking Nico with her. She looked at Cal with a weary smile and said, "If you wouldn't mind. . .I'll take all the help I can get. I guess I didn't think things through as thoroughly as I originally thought." Cal regarded her with an expression that was a combination of humor and compassion. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, pushing her onto the couch. Megan went down willingly and Cal sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"If I know you, and I think I do, you looked at all the practical aspects except for one. You thought about who would look after this guy when you were at work, who had the most room, and whether you could afford to feed him. You thought about where he would sleep, and how much care you would need. The idea that he might need help in the privy probably never crossed your mind," Cal said, his brown eyes warm with affection and just a hint of teasing. Megan lay her head on his shoulder, tucking her feet under her body.

"Got it in one. We just got in, and all of a sudden, I'm thinking, what am I doing? What was I thinking? It's like. . .I don't want to liken him to a child or a dog, but if. . .in some ways, that's exactly what it's like. Adopting a child or an animal. I'm not trying to cheapen him, but it just hit me, what a huge responsibility I've taken on," she admitted honestly. And she was scared. Michael. . .or whatever his name really was. . .was probably close to a decade older than she was, but in many ways, she was now a mother. His mother. What was she thinking?

"You're right. You have taken on a huge responsibility. But baby girl, this is nothing you haven't done before. Yeah, this is a new kind of responsibility. But you accepted a new responsibility when your parents told you about their plan to adopt a child. You accepted the responsibility of being an older sister and mommy two to Kristin. When you graduated from the academy, and put on your uniform for the first time, you accepted another responsibility, to protect and serve the people of Campbell. Are you gonna tell me that you weren't terrified back then?" Cal asked.

Megan thought about that. No, actually, she couldn't tell him. . .because it wouldn't have been true. When she put on her uniform for the first time, and realized that she was now a police officer, and it was her job to protect the town and the people she grew up with, she had grown so frightened, Megan actually became dizzy. Cal asked softly, tightening his arm around her shoulders, "So what's the difference? Back then, you took on shared responsibility for thousands of people. Now, you're taking on responsibility for one. What was true then is true now. You're not alone, Megan."

You're not alone. Of course. How silly of her to forget. She wasn't alone. Not in this and not ever. She raised a rueful smile to Cal, who kissed her forehead and told her, "Now get some rest. I'll look after Michael. Your room, right?" She nodded and Cal hugged her one last time, then rose to his feet. Megan only vaguely heard him talking to Michael as he wheeled the exhausted man into her bedroom, where he could rest himself. With a sigh, she stretched out onto the sofa and glanced at the stuffed pumpkin resting on the coffee table. Megan smiled faintly, remembering when she bought that. It was the annual Halloween carnival. Begun by Mayor Farrell's late wife (God rest her soul) as a way to protect the local children during the rash of horror stories about tainted candy, the Halloween carnival became far more than that, especially after Captain Anders arrived.

Next, her eyes slid to one of her favorite decorations: her name in hieroglyphs, something her cousin brought back for her from a trip to (of all places), Las Vegas. Apparently, Gavin got it while he was visiting the Luxor. Only her cousin. Only her cousin. Megan smiled sleepily as her eyes drifted closed. Yes, as irritating as he could be, Gavin loved her and she loved him. That was one thing Cal was right about. She was surrounded by people who loved her. Her parents, Gavin, Kristin, Elena. She had Cal himself, his grandmother, even Captain Anders and her closest friends in the department. She didn't have to take care of Michael alone.

Because she wasn't alone. Never alone. Never. With those comforting words, and a soft sigh of contentment (she was home!), Megan slipped into brief oblivion. She would call Captain Anders; after she woke up. . .

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The motion, after remaining still for so long, woke him. He didn't remember falling asleep. . .the last thing he did remember was finding himself back in that infernal box. The one Meg hated. He was starting to understand why she hated it so much. Now, as he blinked his eyes open with a sleepy protest, he realized he was in an entirely unfamiliar place, but he was willing to wager that it was Meg's home. He was being wheeled toward a bed. It wasn't particularly large, but right now, it didn't have to be.

The man who helped them earlier was the one pushing his chair. So he discovered when the stranger circled around to the front of the chair. Mikal didn't know this man, but Meg obviously did and just as obviously, she trusted him. Which meant Mikal would trust him as well. Besides, he was simply too tired to protest. . .much. The stranger knelt in front of him, pushing the foot rests down. He smiled up at Mikal gently, his brown eyes reflecting compassion and just a hint of wariness. He was around Meg's age, perhaps a few years older, with sandy-brown hair and brown eyes.

The stranger was speaking in that attractive cadence that marked the speech of Meg, Kristin, and their family (with the exception of their father). While Mikal couldn't understand a word he was saying, the man's tone was gentle, an obvious attempt to be reassuring. Mikal returned the smile. Much to his surprise, however, the man sighed softly, almost sadly. He shook his head, said something, then rested his hand on Mikal's shoulder, murmuring, "Mikal." Yes, that was what Meg and Layna called him. Now the man touched his own chest, adding, "Cal."

Cal? That was his name. Mikal repeated, not entirely sure if he was understanding the man, "Cal?" While most of the names he heard since his awakening among the healers were strange, this was the strangest one yet. But the man smiled and nodded. Cal. Well, in this strange new world of his, surprises were to be expected. Cal helped him up from the chair and eased him onto the bed. Mikal barely held back a groan as he was settled carefully against the pillows. Oh, that was much better!

He sighed softly, resting his forearm over his closed eyes. Yes, now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered Meg introducing them, telling Mikal that Cal was a boon companion. Cal gently patted his shoulder and Mikal heard him settle into a nearby chair. He allowed his arm to slip from his face and looked around the room curiously. It was Meg's room, quite obviously. It had a quietly feminine touch to it. . .more than that, it felt like Meg. Quiet warmth. . .nothing blatant or brazen. Just. . .restful. The walls were a pale shade of yellow, like sunlight on an early spring morning. It imbued the room with that quiet warmth he noticed earlier.

On the chest of drawers sat several framed pictures. He had learned, while amongst the healers, that such pictures were called 'fotos.' Mikal also learned that the devices which created such photos were called 'cam'ras,' and that her cam'ra was a favorite possession of Meg's. Toward the end of his stay with the healers, Meg would sometimes take him out into the courtyard in his wheeled chair, along with Nico. As he rested and marveled at the beauty of the courtyard, Meg had her camera out. Later, she showed him the pictures she had taken in the courtyard, and pointed to her camera. It was then that he realized the photos came from the camera, though he still hadn't figured out how the camera worked.

Mikal turned his head to one side, looking away from the chest. Beside Meg's bed, and resting beside the torch called a 'lamp,' sat another picture. The frame looked old and the silver was dulled. The picture itself was of a young man and a young woman, locked in each other's arms. They were not Meg's parents, but his new friend did seem to resemble both of the young people. Who were they? Obviously, someone important to her, else she would not have their picture beside her bed. Mikal had a brief, powerful image of Meg sleepily kissing the picture good night, and had no idea where it came from.

Mikal's eyes continued to drift around the room, even as tired as he was. Meg's room was so different from the room where he awoke. Not just in the warm pale gold color. His own room held a few paintings of seascapes. . .perhaps an attempt to make the room warmer, but the odd devices and smell made that more difficult. Meg's room, on the other hand. . .it was different. On the wall, above Cal's head, was another portrait/photo, this time of a young man. His hair was almost a red-gold color, and for a brief moment, another young man with red-gold hair appeared in Mikal's mind's eye. He knew this young man. . .at least, Mikal thought he did. And though his hair was a darker shade than the young man in the picture, they seemed similar to Mikal. The young man in the photo, like the young man in Mikal's mind, wore a light beard, and stared at the world with bright blue eyes. But unlike the mysterious young man in Mikal's mind, the young man in the photo held a glowing blue sword. His expression was calm, but determined, and Mikal immediately recognized him as a fellow warrior.

On the opposite wall was another framed picture. This one was more easily identified. It showed Meg and Layna, though they were much younger. And laughing. They were laughing, eyes dancing, arms wrapped around each other. Mikal couldn't help but smile back at them, wondering a little about the necklace of flowers each wore. They smiled as if they had completed some great quest. Perhaps that was the reason for the necklace of flowers the pair wore. . .as a reward for completing a quest. Quest. He forced back, with an effort, the images that first began haunting him in his dreams. Mikal suspected that he was dreaming about his old life, but preferred not to focus on that.

Especially since the dreams were growing more and more detailed. The one that terrified him most was the dream where he seemed to be threatening a child. Mikal shuddered. Evidently, Cal was paying closer attention than he realized, because the other man was out of his chair and covering Mikal with a blanket. Mikal responded with a tentative smile, and Cal squeezed his shoulder, murmuring, "Sleep." That word, Mikal knew very well. To reassure his temporary companion, he closed his eyes and tried to relax against the pillows, and it seemed to work, for Cal sat down again.

But he couldn't settle. Even as exhausted as he was, his mind wouldn't allow him to rest. He needed to sleep, that was obvious. He would not recover if he couldn't sleep, if he couldn't rest. To not recover was simply not an option. Meg, Layna, and Kristin were protecting him now, and while he understood that Meg and Layna were warriors in this time, it was his expectation that he would eventually protect them as well. Warriors protected those who could not protect themselves. . .they also protected one another. It was only right. Layna and Meg had protected him. . .once he was well enough, he would return the favor. Perhaps he would even learn new ways of fighting. That made Mikal smile, albeit sleepily.

And it seemed as if the rest of his body was relaxing as well. Mikal allowed himself a soft sigh of contentment as he began drifting off to sleep. For a moment, he saw a lovely woman with golden ringlets, there in the room with him. She was smiling. . .in fact, she looked proud of him. The lady seemed quite familiar to him, but Mikal was too sleepy to further puzzle it out. His eyes slid shut, and then his only reality was the peace of his dreams.

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He saw them into the house, made sure they put their bags in a place where they could unpack later easily, then bid them a good night. And despite the offers, he chose not to stay and talk to the parents or the daughter. Gavin Rafferty had other business, with the other daughter. With any amount of luck, she would be sleeping when he got there. He did, however, accept the offer from Francis to borrow the other car. Especially after he told the older man what he was doing.

It occurred to him, after Megan dropped them off, that she left something out of her equation, when it came to taking care of Boromir. . .accompanying him to the bathroom while he recovered. In the first place, the Gondorian warrior was a proud man. He would be uncomfortable with the necessity of leaning against the slight young cop, and even more uncomfortable with disrobing in front of her. He was still regaining his strength, and knowing her, Megan hadn't realized what she had forgotten yet. She focused on the larger picture, such as who would care for him while she was at work, even what he would do once he was strong enough, if he stayed.

And he _would_ stay. That, Gavin knew without a doubt. Megan, Elena, and Kristin took care of him, and Boromir would return the favor. Especially once he regained his memory. Gavin eased the car to a halt at a stoplight, considering the other man's evident amnesia. That could be. . .interesting. . .when Boromir regained his memory. Gavin didn't know what happened with the amnesia, though there were good arguments for both a biological and a supernatural reason. His injuries and the trip through time alone could have caused his amnesia. . .either one alone was traumatizing. There was also possibility that whatever brought Boromir to this time and place was responsible. The being evidently realized that the memory of his brief fall to the Ring could stunt Boromir's recovery, and wiped his memory until he was strong enough.

Which still left a few other questions. How exactly did a man who fought and died long ago find a new purpose in a world totally unfamiliar to him? Yes, there were warriors, and there always would be. First, though, Boromir had to learn the language. Megan and this Ronan Daly began teaching him, with considerable aid from Elena and Kristin. Gavin knew he could help as well, especially since Boromir remembered Sindarin. That was good. That would help tremendously. And back at the house, Ailsa began thinking out loud about ways she could help her elder daughter and the newcomer. As a (retired) librarian, she had access to software programs that would assist Boromir with learning English. Gavin allowed himself a smile. Trust Ailsa. The woman could talk a mile a minute, bless her heart, but she was the first to help. She really was her father's daughter. Gavin never met Craig McFarlane, but he wished he had.

Gavin's musings continued as he pulled into Megan's apartment complex. He knew from a quick call when he first got into his car that Cal Watkins was in Meg's apartment, watching over Boromir while Meg slept. Gavin laughed softly, thinking about that. With the exception of himself and Francis, no one in the family ever quite understood the relationship between Meg and Cal. And even he and Francis didn't totally understand their friendship, though he supposed Francis didn't really care. He was just pleased that his little girl had someone else to look after her.

The thing was, Cal was something of an oddity. Among women, he was considered 'hot.' In fact, Gavin heard Kristin call him a 'hottie' more than once. He was handsome, athletic, intelligent, heroic. . .and yet, he and Megan were never anything more than friends. Megan never wanted anything more than that. Maybe she thought she wasn't pretty enough or good enough for him, but she was, in fact, simply happy to sit on the steps of the building were his grandmother lived even then, and talk about their favorite heroes. In his mind's eye, Gavin could see them on the concrete front steps, Megan on the step below Cal's, slim arms around her knees as she and Cal chattered endlessly. For his own part, Cal leaned back against the wall, an indulgent grin on his face that widened when Megan scowled at him for ruffling her hair.

With that image in his mind, and his own smile widening at the memory, Gavin made his way up to Megan's apartment. She gave him a key to her place for his birthday the previous year, after he retired from the Corps. Retired. He was only thirty-nine, which made it hard for him to wrap his mind around that word. Retired. The last time he checked, he didn't even have any silver streaks in his hair! How could he be retired? Yet, he was. At least, he was no longer an active service Marine. (As he had told Kristin, more than once, there was no such thing as an EX-Marine, thank you very much!)

After leaving the active service the year earlier, Gavin thought briefly about becoming a teacher, but quickly dismissed that idea. While he certainly had more patience than Kristin, he didn't have enough patience with high-schoolers. And despite his control, he was afraid of hurting little kids. They were so. . .well, so little! So, instead, he set up his own consulting business for writers needing input from a military type or former military type, however you wanted to put it. Much to his astonishment, he was doing quite well. Most of his business was conducted over the Internet, unless the writer was being particularly dense. . .in which case, Gavin found it necessary to explain over the phone.

Much to his surprise, he received requests from 'amateur' writers, usually curious about the military and wanting to be as accurate as possible in their stories, a medium known as 'fanfiction.' When one such writer explained the concept, Gavin was rather taken with the idea. At the very least, it was a good learning tool. And who knew? Maybe one of those young (or not so young) writers would publish a novel. He always gave these writers his full support, whether he was paid or not. Better that, than run the risk of them making up information that was completely wrong.

The best part about his consulting business was the flexibility. It was that flexibility which allowed him to fly down to Florida and see Francis and Ailsa home. And it was that flexibility which would allow him to help Megan look after Boromir as the Gondorian recovered his strength over the next several weeks. Gavin reached into his jacket pocket for the key to Megan's apartment and carefully pushed open the door. Not surprisingly, she was sound asleep on the sofa, a quilt draped over her slight body. Gavin allowed himself a small smile. He wasn't sure if she remembered the quilt or if Cal put it over her. Either way, it was good to see.

Unfortunately, he didn't look where he was going (he was, he admitted, too busy checking on Megan), and tripped over. . .something. Or rather, he would have tripped, if he hadn't kicked the damn thing first. The resulting 'thump' drew a whimper from the figure on the sofa, and Megan raised her head sleepily. Gavin whispered, "Go back to sleep, Meg." And not for the first time, he thought Jedi mind-tricks actually worked. There were times when he could have used them. Like right now.

"What are you doing?" Megan mumbled. Gavin sighed and walked over to the sofa, lightly caressing her dark hair. She settled back into the cushions of the sofa, mumbling, "Probably trying to pay me back for singing 'Ma-Na-Ma-Na' earlier." Gavin held back a snicker. Yes, the thought occurred to him, to make her pay for that. He'd have the damn song in his head for the next two weeks. If he was lucky. However, if he did decide to pay her back, it would be when she wasn't expecting it. It was better that way.

"No, silly girl, I'm here to help look after Michael. I'll sleep on the floor, and that way, he'll have someone here who can help him with. . .masculine things," Gavin retorted. Megan hummed in response. However, there was nothing more as she settled into the cushions, her head disappearing under the quilt, and Gavin sighed softly with relief. She really needed the sleep, more than anything. When she woke up, no doubt, she would call Captain Anders and let her know that they were back. . .assuming, of course, that Elena hadn't done that already. Ah. _Mental note: check with Elena and see if she's called Lydia about their return._

He thought Megan was asleep, so he was more than a little startled when she mumbled from under the quilt, "Gonna have to talk to you and Cal about sneaking behind my back." Gavin stuck his tongue out at her, even though she couldn't see him. Or so he thought. Megan informed him, "Keep your tongue in your mouth, or I'll put something unpleasant on it."_ How in the hell. . .? _Megan snickered a little, saying, "I know you, Gavin. You always react that way when I call your bluff."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get some sleep, you stubborn brat," Gavin retorted. He counted himself lucky that she didn't respond with a one-fingered salute. Megan was raised to be a lady, but she was also a cop. . .and she spent a great deal of time around rough men. Gavin taught her everything he knew, and what he didn't know, his brothers in the Corps did. Or her fellow cops. Yeah, Megan could be a lady. . .but she could also be vulgar if she thought the circumstances called for it. It was one of her most endearing qualities, as far as Gavin was concerned. He liked for his angels to have dirty faces.

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered as a soft sigh was released. What else could he say? He had thought about telling her what he knew about her new roommate, but that involved telling her a great deal more. Things he wasn't ready to reveal yet. Not to Megan, not to anyone. And there was also the matter of being locked away by the men in the white coats. It seemed like Megan had finally gone back to sleep, as there was no answer from the girl on the sofa. Relieved, Gavin walked silently into Megan's room, where Boromir now slept peacefully. He swallowed hard, but nodded to Cal. Megan's old school friend returned the nod, rising slowly to his feet. No words were spoken, which was strange enough. Cal always had something to say, but not this time. Maybe he just wanted to get back to his grandmother. . .and maybe he realized Gavin wasn't in the mood to 'shoot the breeze.' Either way, he was grateful. There was so much he needed to tell Boromir, and it seemed like now, while he was asleep, was the best time.

For thirty thousand years, he had waited to be reunited with this man. In previous lifetimes, he was reunited with other members of the Nine (including Legolas). He was a warrior, a healer, a teacher, a lover, a brother, a son, a father. But with Boromir's return to the living, Marine Gunnery Sergeant (retired) Gavin Mark Rafferty knew that the time had come for the Nine to be completely reunited. In his long-ago life, they had said that the hands of the king were the hands of a healer. The reincarnation of Aragorn Elessar sat at his friend's bedside, and hoped that was still true.


	7. Reconnecting

Happy New Year, everyone! Hope everyone enjoyed their holidays, whichever ones you celebrate. Pelagia's being Pelagia, Madsen's being Madsen, and we find out what Megan's like when she's drunk. . .albeit indirectly. If all goes well, the reincarnations of Gimli and Aragorn will be meeting face to face next chapter. . .or the one after that.

Chapter Six

Reconnecting

It was a source of never-ending amusement while they were growing up, to make up rhythms when they knocked on each other's door. After seeing _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ when they were teenagers, Elena and Megan often amused each other by using the '_shave and a haircut_' knock, as they called it. Right now, still amused by Gavin's obvious frustration with Megan singing the _'Ma-Na-Ma-Na'_ song, it was all Elena could do to keep from invoking that childhood knock now. But, she restrained herself. Mrs. Watkins was a sweetheart, but she was a bit unpredictable.

Besides, the smile on the elderly lady's face when she saw her beloved dog was far better than anything else Elena could have imagined. Mrs. Watkins crooned to Nico in her native German, and Nico seemed to understand every word she said. It wouldn't have surprised her, if Nico did understand. One thing she learned from her nieces and nephews. . .even as young as two, they understood a lot more than one would think (or want, for that matter). She saw no reason for a dog to be any different.

After greeting her dog enthusiastically (and receiving an equally enthusiastic greeting), Mrs. Watkins turned her attention to Elena, observing, "And how are you, my dear? Did my Nico take good care of you and Megan while you were in Raleigh? Did my brother-in-law?" Of course, it came out as 'brudder,' but by this time, Elena mentally translated Mrs. Watkins' comments without even thinking about it. Besides, after all the times she and her mother passed from English to Spanish and back again in a conversation, while Megan was standing right there, she didn't exactly have the right to say anything about Mrs. Watkins' accent.

"They both took very good care of us. What about you, what about the town? We heard that Damaris found a job at the Castle, but what else is going on?" Elena asked as she followed Mrs. Watkins almost automatically into her kitchen. Oooh, that smelled good! Every year, she made snickerdoodles and Christmas cookies for the rest of the apartment complex. Elena wasn't certain, but she thought the fire department got cookies as well. It stood to reason, since her grandson (her favorite grandson at that) was a firefighter himself.

"Mindy is opening a pottery café! Isn't that clever of her?" Mrs. Watkins beamed, shooing Elena into a seat at the kitchen table. The detective blinked in surprise. Mindy? Pottery café? It wasn't that she doubted Parminder Reilly. . .the young woman was determined and gifted, but she would have never thought of a pottery café. Seeing Elena's surprise, Mrs. Watkins continued, sounding like a proud grandmother, "Ja! She received the financing from the bank, leased the location, and it's to open next month. Is that not wonderful! She already has requests from some new potters, to display their work. She told me she was inspired by the pottery displays at the airport."

Elena knew the ones Mrs. Watkins meant. . .she, Megan and Kristin discussed the pottery on display while they headed for the baggage claim. And it made sense. Megan observed that while the advertising wasn't free, it was invaluable. Thousands, if not millions, passed through baggage claim, and while not everyone paid attention to those displays, quite a few did. It was like the African sculptures in the Atlanta airport. As Mrs. Watkins placed a cup of hot tea in front of her (oooh, apple cinnamon!), Elena observed, "So, what will she do about food? Will she even serve food, as well as coffee and tea?" A better question, to Elena's way of thinking, was, would she have a cappuccino machine? She hated coffee and detested espresso, but she loved cappuccino.

"That is the most spectacular part of it! She has asked me to make pastries and cookies for her!" the widow replied, beaming happily. Elena found herself blinking, though she wasn't entirely sure why she would be surprised. Jealousy, perhaps? As if hearing her thoughts, the elderly lady leaned forward and gently patted her hand, adding, "You must not worry, Elena! I will still have time to bake for the police and fire departments!"

"You scare me when you do that," Elena complained, "figuring out what I think before I do." That made her partner's neighbor laugh, and Elena continued, "Okay, so Damaris has a job and Mindy's opening a pottery café. What else is going on that I should know about? Any blackmail about Gavin I can pass along to Meg?" Mrs. Watkins just waved a finger at her in a mock scold, and Elena continued unrepentantly, "Hey, just because I used to have a crush on him doesn't mean I won't give him a hard time. He'd think something was wrong if I didn't hassle him."

"You are very bad, Elena. But no, I have nothing about Gavin. Jean Farrell, however, swears that by the end of the year, her Tom will be committing to Captain Anders. They will make such a lovely couple, I think," Mrs. Watkins replied. Elena had noticed the glances that passed between her captain and the mayor. . .as had Megan. The two friends had yet to discuss their thoughts on the subject. It didn't make a difference what they thought. At least, it didn't make a difference to Captain Anders, or to Mayor Farrell, but they liked to compare notes on everything, not just the cases they worked. Personally, Elena was rooting for the relationship. Mayor Farrell had been alone for a long time. It was hard to tell what Meg thought, especially since she had a crush on Mayor Farrell, back when he was _Detective_ Farrell.

"So. . .anything else?" Elena asked. No doubt, Madsen would have looked down her nose at the conversation, but Elena used whatever tools were at her disposal. Mrs. Watkins knew almost everyone in town, and whatever tidbits she passed along to Elena (or Megan) could come in handy somewhere down the line. Elena remembered one conversation that saved the life of a local teenager who was heading for trouble. Contrary to popular belief, lightning did sometimes strike twice in the same place. And an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

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So. Boromir was in the Southern American state of North Carolina. At least according to Gabriel Wainwright, who in turn heard it from Dr. Ronan Daly. And why was this important? Again, according to Gabriel, the aforementioned doctor was the reincarnation of Gimli, son of Gloin, and one of the dearest friends of Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood (or Greenwood, depending on the Age). Legolas wouldn't think about that at the moment, though. He had plans to make.

Gabriel had ever so kindly forwarded Gimli's email to him (Ronan. . .his name was Ronan now). In that email, Gi. . .Ronan. . .had told Gabriel about Boromir's three protectors. . .the young women Galadriel had seen. Legolas wondered about Boromir's new companions. What were they like. . .Megan, Elena, and Kristin? What horror drove them to leave their duties as protectors and go to North Carolina's state capital? Oh, Ronan didn't phrase it in that way, but it was certainly implied. 'It's their story to tell, not mine.' There was a story there, and it wasn't a good one.

He had read the email three times now, and with each re-reading, he had a better handle on Gimli in this lifetime. There was a tiny bit of the gruffness Legolas remembered from that first life, so many ages ago, but it was balanced by gentleness when he wrote of Boromir and his protectors. There was also the wry sense of humor which marked Gimli. Oh, how he had missed that! Pieces of previous conversations drifted through his head, making him smile once more. 'Your friends are with you, Aragorn.' The answering grumble from the diminutive individual beside him, 'Let's hope they last the night.' Weeks later, 'Never thought I'd die beside an Elf.' A quick smile and an answer, 'What about dying beside a friend?' The face tilted up, brown eyes softening as they met the prince's eyes, 'Aye. I can do that.'

Aye. I can do that. Legolas smiled faintly as he began re-reading for the fourth time the email Gabriel had forwarded to him. Of particular interest was the section in which Ronan described how Boromir came to be in this time. He read aloud, "And this is where the tale becomes particularly fantastic. . .the woman, the goddess, who brought him forth in time approached me. She is a goddess or a demi-goddess, perhaps even one of the Valar or the Maiar. I do not know. She calls herself 'Pelagia,' and has claimed Boromir as one of her Champions, along with a young pre-med student who volunteers at the hospital, that student's elder sister, and the sister's partner. The two older women are both police officers."

Pelagia. No doubt, she was the strange elleth who appeared in Valinor, just prior to his and Haldir's departure. Legolas didn't know exactly whom she was, but in order to transport a man thirty thousand years into the future and heal him enough to give him (and his healers) a fighting chance, as the saying went. . .she had to be powerful. Extremely powerful. Ronan was most likely correct in thinking that she was one of the Maiar. One of the Valar. . .he supposed that was possible, but it just did not seem likely.

"Tell me, Greenleaf of the Greenwood. . .is it truly so important that you know my true identity," a strangely familiar voice queried. Legolas was on his feet immediately, his most immediate weapon at the ready. . .a small plastic knife he was using to cut his food while Haldir finished unloading the dishwasher. The beautiful elleth he encountered in Valinor was staring at him, bright eyes dancing with amusement. She said after a moment, "I dare not laugh at you. . .I've no doubt that a plastic knife can prove to be just as deadly as a kitchen knife."

"It would certainly be more painful," Legolas rejoined. He was stunned (and maybe a little horrified) to realize that he was shaking. The prince very gently placed the plastic knife on the desk beside the keyboard, and asked, "Since you think your true identity is irrelevant, I presume you mean for me to call you 'Pelagia,' as that is the name Ronan Daly now uses?" How did she get here? As keen as his hearing was, he should have heard her enter the room, heard her enter the house!

"Pelagia does quite well for my purposes. It is how I have called myself for many ages, as Elves and mortals count time," the entity in front of him replied. She shrugged, and somehow, even that gesture seemed regal. Pelagia continued, "And truly, my name is not important. Nor is my identity. I am not important. Boromir, on the other hand, is. And that is why I have come here. Ronan Daly speaks the truth. You must give Boromir time to adjust to this time, before you seek him out. As strong as he is. . .and he is. . .at the moment, Boromir is more vulnerable, more fragile, than when the Ring began its assault on his mind and heart, on his very sanity. Yet, you do need your answers. Answers he cannot give you. . .but I can."

Legolas didn't know where to start. Most of his questions centered around this woman, this elleth, whatever she was. He took a breath, held it a few seconds, then released it. And then he found the question he wanted to ask. Maintaining eye contact with the being in front of him, he asked simply, "Why?" A slender gold brow arched and Legolas continued, "Why did you bring him forward in time? Why Boromir? Why North Carolina, why those girls?"

That was actually several questions, and now that the dam was broken, so to speak, Legolas discovered he had even more questions to ask. But those could wait. The entity didn't answer immediately; indeed, it seemed as if she was choosing her words carefully when she did speak. Boromir's rescuer responded, "You ask many questions, disguised as one. Why did I bring Boromir forward in time? I saw him, in his last moments of life. I watched as he defended the two small ones with his very life, almost literally with his last breath. He was gravely wounded, princeling. But only at the end, when the third arrow thumped home, only then did his strength fail him. How, then, could I allow a man of such valor, of such determination. . .to simply die?"

Legolas swallowed the lump in his throat. Pelagia sighed softly, murmuring, "Something is coming, Greenleaf. Something wicked. My Champions will have need of another such as themselves, and that is another reason I brought him forward in time. I placed him in North Carolina, because that was where he was most needed. In Campbell, North Carolina, where he could rest and heal. . .because the people of that town will have need of him, just as my Champions will. And why those girls? Why not those girls? They are mine. They strive to protect, to do things that other people cannot. . .that other people will not. And perhaps that is reason enough. Because he is needed here. His task in Middle-earth was fulfilled. But he still has so much to give. . .that is why."

Legolas bowed his head in understanding. The gesture had one other purpose. It gave him time to think about the next question to ask. He sorted through them in his mind, one after another. Too many of them returned to Pelagia's identity, and those were put aside until she was willing to tell him. At last, he came to one. . .perhaps it was many disguised as one, but he was rather certain it was one she would answer, nonetheless. The prince asked softly, "Will you tell me of your other Champions? Of the young women who now care for Boromir and aid in his healing?"

"What would you like to know?" Pelagia asked, her voice just as quiet. What did he want to know? What didn't he want to know? He wanted to know everything. Why the two older Champions chose to become law enforcement officers. . .why the younger one was a healer. He wanted to know what the reincarnation of his old friend Gimli thought of the girls in question, and if he believed they would take good care of Boromir until Legolas and Haldir arrived in North Carolina. Everything. He wanted to know everything. Taking pity on him, Pelagia said softly, "Elena is called the fiery one. And she can be. But part of it is playing a role. People expect her to be a feisty Latina, and so, that is how she behaves. It encourages them to underestimate her. I think she learned that particular trick from Megan."

The last sentence was spoken in a wry tone of voice, and Legolas found himself smiling in spite of himself. Pelagia smiled back and continued, "Megan is the quiet one, if you want to utilize the stereotypes of three women. She's also fiercely determined, and just as devious as Elena. However, she uses her reserve as a weapon. People make the mistake of thinking her a pushover, because she is quiet. They make the equally fatal mistake of thinking because she is quiet, she is also deaf. . .and say things perhaps they should not."

"They both use what could be disadvantages as advantages. They use other people's perceptions of them as a weapon on their own behalf," Legolas mused. Pelagia nodded with an approving smile. In some ways, Megan sounded like a female version of Faramir. . .quiet, holding her own counsel, and made all the more dangerous for that. Legolas requested, painfully aware that he sounded like an elfling, begging for just one more story before falling asleep, "Tell me more of them? Please?"

"As you wish," Pelagia acquiesced with a smile, "though I shall first tell you of my youngest Champion among them, Megan's younger sister Kristin. One thing you must understand. . .Megan is a protector. She has protected Kristin from the moment her parents stepped off the plane with Kristin in her mother's arms. She protects those around her, as an officer of the law. And since all children need their own identity, Kristin became a healer. Megan tries to prevent, Kristin tries to cure." Legolas nodded, understanding at once. Two sides of the same coin, in some respects. He wondered briefly where Haldir was, then decided that his friend would join him when he was ready. In the meantime, he had st. . .he had intelligence to gather.

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Going to Legolas was not part of her plan for this moment in time. . .but she found herself drawn to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada nonetheless. Megan had reached her apartment safely. . .she was sleeping, and Gavin was watching over both her and Boromir. Kristin was helping her mother unpack and Elena would be remaining with Mrs. Watkins for a time. All four of her Campbell Champions would be all right, at least for the moment.

And if he was to follow Ronan's. . .suggestions. . .about keeping his distance from Boromir, then Legolas would need answers. At the moment, she was the only one who could provide those answers. She supposed that Ronan himself could do so, but she would have him leaving for Campbell by the end of the following week. He didn't know it yet, of course. Just as he didn't know that his destiny lay in Campbell. There were a few other things he didn't know. He would find out. All in good time.

Right now, she was telling Legolas as much about her female Champions as she could remember. Things that would. . .as the mortals would put it. . .bring them to life. She was learning, much to her chagrin, that such a task was far more difficult than she initially thought. It wasn't just about their favorite colors, or the music they liked. Nor was it (entirely) that Megan sang along with the radio when she was alone in her car, that Elena delighted in spoiling her nieces and nephews, or that Kristin thought about adopting a child of her own if she didn't find a man to suit her. It wasn't entirely those things, but they did play a part in whom her Champions were. Megan relaxing after a particularly difficult day on the job by changing into a caftan Gavin brought back for her during his travels around the world, making a pot of apple cinnamon tea and settling in with a book. . .that played into it.

But it wouldn't set the prince's mind at ease. He was worried for Boromir, and though there was far more to all three young women than simply their Callings, those Callings would provide the most assurance to Legolas. And so, Pelagia told the prince about the murder of Elena's grandfather when she was still a teenager, the single greatest reason she chose her career path. . .her determination that if she could spare even one family that heartbreak, it would be worth it.

She told him about the hours Kristin spent volunteering at the hospital where Boromir was found. It wasn't just learning about her future career. . .it was time she spent with the patients. He was reassured, she realized, when she told him about the time Kristin spent with Boromir, gently calming him. There were stories, too, of her taking coloring books and crayons in for little patients and for the children of patients. Hospitals were really no place for children. . .but if they had to be there, they should have something to do. That was the way she saw it, at least. Pelagia also told him that Kristin came to that conclusion when she was a child, after Megan was hospitalized for several days.

And that brought her to her final Champion. Megan, it seemed, was the most difficult for her to explain to Legolas. It wasn't that she was more (or less) complex than Elena or her younger sister. But she was quiet. Then Pelagia remembered how Megan came to the conclusion that Boromir should go home with them to Campbell, and she began telling Legolas of a gentle man who fought in World War II. . .who was always there when someone needed help, because, as he (and his granddaughter) said, 'it needed to be done.'

Of course, she couldn't help telling him about other things. Like how easily Kristin picked up languages (sometimes a little too easily, especially the saltier words); Elena's passion for cars; and an unforgettable conversation between all three Champions (plus a few others) in which Megan drew parallels between Rodimus Prime in _Transformers_ and Obi-Wan Kenobi in _Star Wars_. Her conclusions left her sister and best friend gaping at her in shock. Gavin, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed the points she made. It amused Pelagia, that Megan took two characters who were so dissimilar on the face of it, aside from the fact that Megan loved them both. (However, she would keep the fact that Megan was exhausted and slightly tipsy to herself. It really didn't have much bearing on the subject at hand. . .though it did explain why the idea occurred to her)

Legolas simply looked at Pelagia as if he thought Megan was insane and asked slowly, "Rodimus Prime? The child-bot who took Optimus Prime's place after that travesty known as _Transformers: The Movie_? How can she even begin to compare him with Obi-Wan Kenobi? Their personalities are so different. . .how did she come up with that?" Pelagia just smiled and waited for him to rehinge his jaw, before she even tried to answer his question. At the same time, she was trying not to do a double-take of her own that Legolas, of all beings, had watched the 1980's cartoon.

At last, she replied, "I believe, as Megan explained it, they were two very young individuals put into an extremely difficult situation, who often doubted if they were doing as good a job as their predecessor." The prince's mouth snapped closed and Pelagia could just see him processing those ideas through his mind. She could also see when he came to the conclusion that Megan was absolutely right. It was at that point that she asked with a mischievous smile, "And just how did you come to watch any of the _Transformers_ cartoons?" Much to her surprise (and delight), the Elf turned bright red with embarrassment. She couldn't quite hold back a grin (but she did manage to keep from laughing aloud).

Rather than pressing the poor elfling for details, Pelagia explained, "Megan adored Rodimus Prime, for the simple fact that she understood him. She has come to terms with what she sees as her shortcomings. At least, in her own mind. In her own mind, she's not as pretty as one person, not as smart as another, not as athletic as another, and so on. She's made her peace with that, but when she was in high school, she saw it as not being good enough. Never being good enough. She has a very. . .interesting take on the world sometimes." Right. And leave it at that.

Legolas, however, wasn't thinking about that. Instead, his mind seemed to still be on Pelagia's previous statements. He murmured sadly, "How terrible. . .that a child would think such a thing of herself. I cannot imagine her heartbreak or her despair, to believe even for a short time that nothing she did would ever be good enough." Pelagia didn't answer right away. In truth, the Megan she just described slowly gave way to the Megan she knew now. Perhaps, the young cop even talked herself into believing that that part of her life never happened. Certainly, while it was going on, she never admitted such things, not even to herself.

"She has outgrown such thoughts," Pelagia finally said, "although some insecurity remains within her soul. There is a human saying. . .'to whom much is given, much is expected.' Megan expects a great deal out of herself. She has very high standards for herself. Perhaps even impossibly high. But when she fails to meet the standards, she adapts and attempts to do better, rather than becoming lost in her own insecurity and what she perceives to be her failure." She paused, smiled, and added, "But I suppose, that goes back to what I said earlier about why Megan does what she does, why she is what she is."

Legolas smiled as well, speaking in unison with Pelagia, "Because it must be done." Pelagia inclined her head. Exactly. He fell silent, then admitted somewhat reluctantly, "I, too, felt compassion for the young Autobot leader. When I wasn't sorely tempted to bash his metallic head in for measuring himself against his predecessor." Pelagia barely held back the impulse to smack the prince alongside his own head for missing the obvious, something that all three of her young Champions understood.

Instead, she quietly pointed out, "How else would he do so, Legolas? All the boy heard was, 'Optimus didn't do it that way.' How else would he measure himself? It takes time for someone to make their own way, in the shadow of a legendary predecessor. Look at the reincarnations of your friends among the Nine. In this life, Gimli is a surgeon. Ronan has made no attempt to become Gimli again, because he is not the same person. The same holds true for the reincarnation of your friend Aragorn. He's a Marine in this lifetime. He remembers whom he was, but he keeps Aragorn in the past. In fact, he has no interest in being Aragorn again. Why should he? Those who struggle the most are the young ones, who are struggling to find their own place."

Again, Legolas was silent as he processed these words. At last, he murmured, "Indeed. You have given me much food for thought." Well, that was good to hear. Her work was done. . .in time, Legolas would realize on his own that their conversation was part of the reason he needed to keep his distance from Boromir. It wasn't just the fact that his presence would bring Boromir's darker memories to the surface, before he was ready to remember. . .but the Gondorian had to find his own way in this strange new world, without additional input from those who knew him before.

Satisfied that the prince would do the right thing for his long-missed friend, Pelagia decided it was time for her to speak with Ronan. He needed to go to Campbell, sooner than he was currently anticipating. Much sooner. In fact, if Pelagia got her way, Ronan would leave for Campbell by the end of the week. But before she did, Pelagia observed mischievously, "Of course, you realize. . .Ronan will find it necessary to remind you on a regular basis that he was the one who found Boromir. He will take pleasure in, as the humans say, rubbing it in!" With one, final bright smile for the youngster, Pelagia vanished. She had a great deal of work to do!

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Ronan, as he often did on days like these, kept himself busy after the Campbell girls left with Boromir. He didn't want to admit it, but he missed all of them already. And he missed them even more every time he returned to the nurse's station to see Detective Madsen glowering at him. Why was that wretched girl still here? Was Raleigh experiencing a sudden vacation from crime, that she felt justified in remaining here? _Wretched girl_, he thought again, and returned her glower with one of his own. She blinked, actually seeming to be surprised by his reaction.

"If I've told you once, Chrissy, I've told you a hundred times. Don't be so surprised when someone returns fire. You come across as a petulant child, not an intimidating cop," the wretched girl's partner said patiently, his exasperated expression at odds with his tone of voice. He was leaning against the nurse's station, trading a knowing glance with the head nurse. Ronan pressed his lips together, trying very hard not to smile, both at the silent conversation between the cop and the nurse, to say nothing of the expression on Madsen's face.

"Don't call me 'Chrissy,' Charles, you know I don't like it," the younger cop all but whined. Ronan ducked his head, so she wouldn't see him rolling his eyes. On one hand, he could somewhat see her point. 'Chrissy' summoned up images of that obnoxious blonde on the equally obnoxious _Three's Company_. On the other hand, the detective was just about as obnoxious. Ronan wondered how her partner kept his sanity if she whined like that on a regular basis.

The older detective merely regarded his partner steadily. He said not a word, but his dark eyes conveyed his disappointment and displeasure with her antics. Much to Ronan's surprise, she actually flushed and dropped her head. She muttered something about going down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Watching her retreat to the safety of the elevator, Ronan observed to the head nurse, Maureen, "I'll be in my office for the rest of my shift. I think Mr. Suarez is healing nicely, but I want to examine him one last time before we discharge him." The woman nodded. They'd been working together for over twenty-five years, and she could read him about as well as Ronan's late wife.

"Then go home and get some sleep," Maureen scolded lightly, "you know, that was one of the reasons I liked those girls. While they were around, you actually rested." Ronan smiled sheepishly, knowing she was right. Maureen added, dropping her voice as she glanced at the retreating back of the blonde detective, "You know, going to pick up your van at the end of the week isn't a bad idea at all. I don't know whom that young man was, but I know he was important to you."

Important. Yes. Yes, that was one way of putting it. Aubrey circled the desk to join the two healers, asking softly, "Why, exactly, was he so important to you? I couldn't miss it. Anyone who spent time on this floor during the last week would notice it." Aubrey's dark eyes never left Ronan's face, and the doctor considered his words. He had told the Campbell girls that Boromir (or Michael, as he was called) reminded him of someone he had known a long time ago. They accepted it, even if they didn't entirely believe it. Aubrey, on the other hand. . .

The trouble was, he couldn't tell the veteran detective the truth. Hell, he couldn't even tell the Campbell girls the truth. Some people did believe in reincarnation, that was true enough. Some, like himself and Gabriel, knew it as a truth. But he didn't know this man well enough to be certain of him. Nor was he willing to take that chance with Boromir's life. What remained, then, was a half-truth. They said that the best lies had their foundation in truth. That was the best course to follow. He allowed himself to meet the cop's eyes, saying quietly, "He reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago. A warrior, a gentle man at heart. The kind of man who would protect what was his, but remembered exactly what he was fighting for." He thought of Merry and Pippin wrestling Boromir to the ground, the Gondorian laughing joyously.

Again, the memory of kneeling before his cousin's tomb, weeping, and a gentle hand settling on his shoulder, flitted through his mind. Ronan continued softly, "He was a ferocious warrior, but he knew when to be silent and supportive. He knew when to comfort and when to inspire. He died, trying to protect two friends. And I got there too late to say good-bye. Too late to tell him how dear he was to me. I saw him as a younger brother, I suppose you could say."

"I'm sorry," Aubrey said quietly. Ronan said nothing, simply nodded. Even now, lifetimes later, he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest as Gimli and Legolas came across Aragorn cradling the dying Boromir tenderly. His friend, who had comforted him in Moria, who had kept him from doing anything stupid after Gandalf's fall, was dead. He had put up an incredible fight, judging from the dead orcs and Uruk-hai littering the ground, but in the end. . .in the end, they didn't get there in time.

"Imagine my surprise, all these years later, when a young man who could be his twin brother is brought into my hospital. I swore to myself that I would do whatever I could for him. That included placing him in the care of those young girls from Campbell. He would fare far better there, where people could take care of him properly," Ronan told the other man. Aubrey nodded without speaking. The doctor debated briefly about questioning his counterpart in the RPD about his partner, but decided against it. Instead, he asked softly, "Why do you call her 'Chrissy' if you know she hates it?"

"This may come as a shock, but she's actually a pretty good cop. She still has a lot to learn, though, something she forgets sometimes. Especially with regards to people. It isn't so much that she hates the name, but she hates it coming from anyone old enough to be her father," Aubrey explained. Ronan worked through that in his mind for a moment, then nodded. It made sense, once he thought about it.

"That's what her parents call her," he observed. Aubrey smiled, but said nothing, and Ronan continued, "So. . .it's kind of your way of making her stop and think." It was a statement, not a question. The two men were silent for several moments as Ronan double-checked the chart for Manuel Suarez before he went in to see the man. He wasn't entirely sure what Aubrey was doing, aside from waiting for his partner. Despite his obvious exasperation, Ronan was beginning to suspect his companion was actually somewhat fond of the annoying girl.

"She has a lot of promise. . .but she has to learn that she doesn't know everything. She has to get over this idea that her husband was slighted when he was sent here," Aubrey said after several moments of silence. Sent here? Was he in the military? The detective explained, "Her husband works for the CDC. He was transferred here from San Francisco. She wasn't happy about the transfer."

So Ronan gathered, but how did her husband feel about it? He didn't ask. . .it really wasn't any of his business. But it did explain quite a few things about the blonde cop. And speaking of which. . . Madsen strode back to the nurse's desk. Aubrey inquired mildly, "Call Jesse?" Jesse, presumably, was her husband. Ronan didn't hear her answer, but she seemed in a better mood. Her partner went on, "Good to hear. Now, are you ready to do some actual police work, or do you need more time to grouse about how the vic is in Campbell now, rather than Raleigh?"

Ow. Direct hit. Ronan glanced at the younger cop out of the corner of his eye, and noticed her wincing. She answered quietly, "Guess I deserved that. Jesse told me to grow up, put on my big girl pants, and get over it." Ronan liked the sound of this Jesse; in fact, he. . . What was that. . .sound? Another sidelong glance at the two detectives told him that neither heard it. Something which didn't exactly bode well for his sanity. Even if the source of the sound was his favorite demi-goddess. Or maybe, that should be especially if the source of the sound was his favorite demi-goddess.

"Maureen, I need to retrieve something from my office before I see Mr. Suarez, in case you need me in the meantime," he told the nurse. She nodded and Ronan turned to the detectives, who even now were leaving. He wasn't entirely sure why they were still there, hours after Boromir's departure. Maybe they had a victim on another floor and returned here to find out what they could about Boromir before leaving. However, he caught Aubrey's eye and nodded to him, a silent farewell between two men who were growing to respect each other. With that taken care of, Ronan strode into his office and said in a quiet but firm voice, "All right, lass, you have my attention. . .what did you need?"

The blonde demi-goddess materialized on top of his desk, smirking at him. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this! A bad feeling that intensified when Pelagia replied, "I need you to go to Campbell, to retrieve your van, once you finish with your patients for the day." Uh, what? Ronan's eyes narrowed. She was up to something. Pelagia added, grinning, "Oh, and I told the Elf that you found Boromir first. Tis why I am here. Since you found Boromir first, you should be the member of the Fellowship to watch over him. And you cannot do that here."

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He dreamed. He dreamed of a young woman with long, pale blonde hair and green eyes. He could not remember her name, but he knew. . .he knew. . .that she was his mother. And that she had left him a long time ago. Left them alone, left them bereft. She smiled at him, touched his face, whispered that she was proud of him, so very proud! He had done so well after she had to leave them. . .so much had been placed on the shoulders of a ten year old boy. But he had never failed them. Not her. Not his father, not his brother, and never his people.

He dreamed. He dreamed of a fierce battle in a sun-dappled forest. He dreamed of a dark-haired man, eyes dark with grief. My brother, my captain, my king. Our people. Our people! There was another Man. . .or was it? The figure was undoubtedly male, but was he Man? His hair was long and blond, reaching far past his shoulders. His eyes were a bright blue and even the pointed ears seemed familiar. He knew this person. Whether he was a Man or not, he knew this person. Just as he knew the being at his side. Considerably shorter than his companion, he seemed his opposite in all ways. Dark hair, instead of blond; dark eyes instead of blue; short and sturdy as opposed to tall and slim. But he was as familiar as the other two. Those images faded out, to be replaced by others. An older man, with long dark hair and hunched shoulders, as if the fate of thousands rested upon them. A young man with red hair and bright blue eyes (my brother!), a bow slung across his back.

He knew these people. But their names were lost to him. Lost, like the knowledge of his own name. Mikal wasn't really his name, but for now, it was good enough. His dreams of his forgotten past gave way to other dreams. Pleasant dreams. Dreams he wouldn't remember when he woke up. But he dreamed. He slept. He lived.


	8. Why's and Wherefore's

I'm back! And contrary to popular belief, I've not abandoned this story. I know it's been a long time since I updated, but things have been. . .interesting over the last few months. I won't bore you with particulars, but I did want to let you know that those of you who kept my family in your prayers. . .my brother and most of his family are now situated very happily in Georgia. In fact, he, his wife and their baby girl came up at the end of May to celebrate my and my sister-in-law's birthdays. Also, check out my website. A few changes have been made. (bouncing) Now, about the chapter. . .I have a very special guest in the final section. He may be important in a later story (and may not be), but after watching the third movie in a particular trilogy, I had to put him in. . .because he would be a natural Champion. And he deserves as much.

Chapter Seven

Why's and Wherefore's

There. Much better. Regine Dennison Farrell folded her arms over her chest and smiled with satisfaction as her grandson stepped away from the fireplace. She had seen the item while browsing the local antique shop and immediately 'saw' it over her fireplace, just above the crossed swords her ancestors had carried into battle. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Of course, her grandson had to ruin it by asking somewhat irreverently, "Is that historically accurate, Gran?"

She smacked the back of his head, drawing a scowl. While the boy had inherited his height from his mother (God rest her soul), rather than his father, he did inherit Tom's coloring, to say nothing of his facial expressions. She reprimanded, "Your face will freeze like that, young man." Jean told her son that continuously while he was growing up. And he, in turn, inherited it from his own father. Rather than grow weepy over the memory of her late husband, she added, "And of course it's historically accurate, child!"

The boy just rolled his eyes and Jean heroically resisted the urge to smack him in the back of his head again. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that she and her brother never demonstrated that much cheek when they were the boy's age. However, she did know better, and her memory wasn't quite that selective. The truth was, they tended to deserve the tannings they got from their parents (usually from their father).

Still, that didn't make it any easier for her to keep her own patience at times.

This was one of those times when she wasn't truly angry or even annoyed with her grandson. He was only teasing her, and when he did that, the best thing to do, really, was return the favor. She pointed out, "Besides, it doesn't have to be historically accurate. Isn't that what you tell me when we watch those movies of yours?" She had him there and she knew it. So did he. That didn't prevent him from sticking out his lower lip, as he did when he was five and didn't get his way. Jean added, "That lip sticks out any further and you'll trip over it."

That made him laugh, as it usually did, and Brendan offered the olive branch with, "I gotta admit, it does look good up there. Dad actually agreed to put that in the back of his truck?" Jean merely smiled angelically. The boy shook his head, murmuring, "You know, if he was built any different than he is, people would call him a mama's boy. Except you don't call a man as big as my dad a mama's boy. You just _don't_." Jean bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Instead, she pointed out, "Your daddy's not a mama's boy, sweetheart, he just loves and respects his mama. Big difference there, darlin' boy." Brendan said nothing, but the woman recognized her grandson's expression. He was thinking about his own mama. Jean squeezed his hand and whispered, "Your mama would be so proud of you, honey. Just like your daddy and I are."

Brendan offered her a sad smile, one that said he wasn't so sure of that. His own father wore that smile from time to time while he was growing up. . .and later still, when Jean reassured him that his late wife would be proud of what he was doing, of what he had become. Brendan whispered, "I don't know, Gran. I've made a lot of mistakes. I think I probably disappointed Mom quite a few times, especially after I turned eighteen. I didn't mean to. . .and you know, it hurt more, that Dad didn't pull any 'how can you do this to me, I have a reputation to uphold.' He was just worried about me."

"Oh, baby, your daddy would never do that to you. Truth is, I think he was worried that he failed you after your mama died," Jean told the boy compassionately. Brendan stared at her, obviously surprised. Jean almost laughed at his expression, but restrained herself. Instead, she chose to steer the conversation in another direction. One that she had been thinking about for quite some time. . .and one that would require particular delicacy. She said carefully, "You know, your mama loved you and your daddy. She would have wanted you both to be happy. She _does _want you to be happy."

"I know," her grandson said softly, "I think about that sometimes. Gran. . .what do you think Mom would have thought of Captain Anders?" Or maybe not as much delicacy as she thought. Jean didn't answer immediately, and Brendan filled the silence, commenting, "I think she could make Dad happy. He kinda lights up when they start bantering. She trusts him, about as much as she can trust any politician. . .even though Dad isn't really a politician. You know? There are politicians and then there are public servants, and Dad's a public servant."

Jean hugged him, responding, "Your daddy's a statesman, just like mine was. He probably will never make it past Campbell, but that's not important. What's important is his commitment to this town and to these people. That's why I think Lydia's good for him. 'Cause they're two of a kind in that respect. . .but they're so different in others. Just like your mama and Daddy were. When Lydia came to Campbell, she was wary, but accepting. She didn't try to change any of us, but tried to understand. Now, I imagine they can have some real doozies of fights, but. . .they can also look out for each other. You won't be around forever, and neither will I."

Brendan's eyes widened and he began shaking his head. Before he could protest, Jean gently pressed one finger to his lips, adding, "Shh. I won't live forever, Brendan. You'll eventually fall in love, get married, and maybe even leave Campbell. And I don't want my little boy to spend the rest of his life alone. Just like I don't want Lydia to be alone, either. I want them both to understand that life is better with someone at their respective sides. . .and maybe, just maybe, that someone is a blonde police captain from up north and a cop turned mayor. They have to figure that out for themselves. . .but that doesn't mean we can't help them along."

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There were times when Tom Farrell wondered how the hell he ended up here. When he joined the force more than twenty-five years earlier, his greatest ambition was making detective. Maybe like Starsky and Hutch, or the Mod Squad. He could laugh about that now, because he was so far removed from that naïve kid that it was hard to believe he was ever that person. But as he spent more and more time, first as a patrol officer, then as a detective, he began to realize that if he really wanted to help the people of his town, if he really wanted to change things, he would have to go higher up.

His wife's death put that on hold. He hadn't the heart for it, for one thing, and he had a shell-shocked son who needed him. Besides, if Tom really wanted to be honest with himself (and he tried to be), he needed his son just as much. Brendan had prevented him from spinning out of control, gave him a focus other than his grief and his work. Athelean had been his high school sweetheart. . .they had loved each other for years, and she died only a few weeks after their son turned ten.

The funeral was hell on both Brendan and Tom. The last thing two grieving people needed to hear was, 'she didn't suffer' or 'she wasn't in pain when she died.' The ten-year-old boy who just lost his mother looked up at the well-meaning adult who voiced that to him and asked simply, "How do you know?" Tom was still in such a state of shock at that point that he couldn't remember what the answer to his son's very honest question was. . .even if he wished with all his heart that he could remember.

Then there were the equally well-meaning types who wanted the funeral a certain way because 'that's how Athelean would have wanted it.' Tom's mother and in-laws fielded those individuals. And then there was the final category, the ones who chastised Tom and Brendan for being selfish when poor Athelean wasn't even cold. Tom didn't even claim to know what they were talking about. However, he had a feeling it had to do with a conversation he had with his mother, in which he miserably admitted that thinking Athelean wasn't in pain when she died was cold comfort, he wanted her back, dammit! He wanted her back and safe, smiling at him as he stumbled into the kitchen every morning, teasing him about sleeping all day.

But to be fair, there were people on the other side of the coin. The Gutierrez and Rafferty families and Sayre McFarlane, who simply held him and whispered that if there was anything the father and son needed, anything at all, to just say something. Megan, who had been. . .oh, hell, how old was she? Twenty, twenty-one? First she, then Elena hugged them both, both sets of dark eyes filled with compassion and sorrow. There was no hesitation on Megan's part, not now. A few years earlier, when she was fourteen and fifteen, there would have been. . .Tom knew she had something of a crush on him when she was a teenager, hard as she tried to hide it. He knew, and so did Athelean.

Megan's crush on him amused and touched Athelean. He had to wonder, as he stared at the picture of his late wife, how she would feel about his growing feelings for Lydia Anders. It wasn't that he was afraid of betraying her. . .it had been more than a decade since her death. It was just. . .when he asked Athelean to marry him, he believed that they would spend the rest of their lives together. And that turned out to be a very short time, indeed. To become serious about anyone other than Athelean. . .he just wasn't sure if he had it in him to go through that again.

Tom turned his attention back to his computer screen, frowning at his notes. Tomorrow night, he would be speaking to the town council and he wasn't happy with its progress. He couldn't really say that it was a speech. More like a brief set of comments, lasting no more than five minutes. Even as a mayor, he didn't like giving speeches. He would far rather be _doing_ than talking. Unfortunately, that was a hazard of his current profession. He hummed along with his borrowed CD, and only his years as a cop kept him from jumping a good foot into the air when a familiar voice observed, "That doesn't sound familiar. . .the group does, but the songs don't. And I never had you figured for a Nickelback fan."

Tom glanced up at Lydia Anders (speak of the devil. . .too bad she wasn't wearing a blue dress), who lounged in the doorway of his office. He answered mildly, "Blame my son for that. . .I borrowed his CD. If I'm not careful, he'll get Mama hooked as well, and that really would be a sign of the apocalypse. And the reason it doesn't sound familiar is because the CD hasn't been released in the States yet. One of Francis Rafferty's relatives in Canada sent a few copies down." What he didn't say was that half of the friggin' songs on the CD reminded him of Athelean, in one form or another. Instead, he went on, "Speakin' of which, I understand his girls are home. Have they contacted you, yet?" Lydia entered his office, glancing around.

"I just got off the phone with Gutierrez. She's at Rafferty's apartment complex. Wanted me to know that they were in and would be at work tomorrow. I told her not to rush herself, that they didn't have to be back at work until Monday, but she told me Rafferty wanted to make sure her email box didn't explode," she replied and Tom couldn't help laughing. Yeah, he understood exactly what Megan meant. It got progressively worse during the holidays, thanks to the upswing of schmaltzy emails. He supposed the idea of the sickeningly sweet forwards were meant to get one into the holiday spirit. He couldn't speak for anyone else, but those things generally left him saying, '_bah, humbug_.'

"Well, I can't argue with that. Somethin' I can help you with, Lydia?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. Lydia didn't answer at first, her eyes shifting around the room curiously. Tom didn't see what was so interesting about his decor, until he realized she had never been in his office. Even so, he never thought of Lydia as being interested in office décor. He was about to say something (though he had no idea what _to_ say), when her eyes came to rest on the picture of Athelean. She glanced at him quickly, her hand hanging awkwardly in the air. Oh. Oh! She wanted to pick up the picture. He bobbed his head once, suddenly feeling out of breath.

Lydia carefully picked the picture up, smiling a little as she said, "Your wife, of course. She was very young. . .and very pretty." Tom felt his jaw tighten with the remembered ache, and Lydia went on in a low voice, "Sayre talked about her sometimes. Said that up until she married you, Sayre never had much use for her. Thought she was a wild child who would meet a bad end. But you balanced her out, just like all good couples do. Just like she balanced out her Craig. Although between you and me, I think Sayre was just relieved at how Athelean never really reacted to Rafferty's crush on you."

"Sayre knew?" Tom asked, startled. He supposed he should have expected it. She was Megan's grandmother, after all, and if anyone would have known about Megan's feelings about anyone or anything, it was Sayre. And, he did expect it. After all, didn't he tell his grandparents things he wouldn't tell his parents. . .and didn't Brendan tell Mama things he wouldn't tell Tom? Of course. He just didn't expect Sayre to tell the new police captain about her granddaughter's crush on him, back when Meg was just a kid. That particular revelation meant a great deal about Sayre's trust in Lydia. The police captain nodded with a half smile as she placed Athelean's picture on his desk once more.

"She wanted me to know what kind of man you were, and what kind of woman Athelean was. Knowing Sayre, she figured Brendan was headed for trouble, and wanted someone else to watch over him. I couldn't do that if I didn't know the basics about his parents," she replied. Put that way, it did make sense. Besides, Campbell was a small town. When he was a kid, it bothered him. Especially when he misbehaved. . .there was _no_ escaping the consequences. By the time he got home, his mother would be waiting at the door with a grim expression and a thin branch, and he just _knew_ he was in for it.

Of course, as you get older, your perspective changes and he became grateful for that grapevine. Especially after Athelean's death. He really wasn't in any condition to keep an eye on his son, the way he should have, and that grapevine kept Brandon from getting into serious trouble. The young'un wasn't out of danger yet, as Tom knew entirely too well. . .he was the mayor of Campbell, but his son was still his first priority, and that meant keeping an eye on him, especially when Brendan thought he wasn't looking.

And, he realized, Lydia hadn't answered his question yet. He said again, "Was there somethin' you needed? You know you're welcome to visit me any time you like, but I really don't think this is a social call." Not that he generally minded when it was, but right now, he still had a lot of work to do, and he knew the same was true of Lydia. Especially with that monster in custody. . .which worried Tom. Dalton Robeson was a monster, there was no way around that. . .but would their jail be enough to hold him until his trial? Tom didn't think so. He needed to figure something out about that.

It seemed that Lydia was thinking along the same lines. She sighed and answered, "It's about Robeson. I don't know if your little birdies have told you, but a woman arrived this morning. . .a lawyer named Bronwyn Harris, a child advocate. She's representing a young girl whose mother was allegedly," and here Lydia paused to make quotation marks in the air, "murdered by Robeson. She's not looking for extradition, but she wants to help us convict the bastard."

"What does she want in return?" Tom asked and Lydia shrugged helplessly. Tom had been in his line of work entirely too long to simply accept an offer of help like that. Someone always wanted something. The mayor was silent for a long time, running things through his mind, then said quietly, "Don't ask her. Just let her do her job, and if she comes to trust us, she may tell us. Maybe she has ulterior motives, maybe she doesn't. But if we work with her, we'll have a better chance at keepin' an eye on her."

Lydia nodded, observing, "I was thinking the same thing. Okay. I'll brief Rafferty and Gutierrez when they get in tomorrow morning." Tom bobbed his head, agreeing to this course of action and Lydia slid from her perch on his desk onto her feet. She added, "If you like, I can send them over to talk to you when they have spare time. I know how you like being kept in the loop." This was said with a teasing, affectionate grin. Tom smiled back, a smile which faded as the police captain left his office. He turned his attention back to his notes, trying not to think about how natural it seemed, Lydia sitting on the edge of his desk while they talked. . .just like Athelean used to do.

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He slowly woke up in a darkened room, body protesting with aches and pains as he shifted. The bed was different from what he remembered, and at first, he was confused. This didn't feel the same, and it certainly didn't smell the same. Then his eyes fell on the dark-haired man dozing in a chair, and he remembered. Meg and Layna took him home with them. And that man. . .this man was Meg and Kristin's. . .the brother-son of their father. . .their cousin!

He started to move, but his shoulder protested quite strenuously and he gasped aloud from the pain that resulted. The dozing man started and woke up. He said something and bolted out of his chair, settling beside Mikal. He pushed him gently back against the pillows, murmuring something in the new language, English. Then he switched to the language Mikal could understand, saying gently, "Be still. . .you must lie still, my friend. Let me check your bandages."

Mikal relaxed once more, sighing a little as Meg's cousin carefully peeled back the strange (but warm) tunic he wore. It occurred to Mikal for the first time that he didn't know the man's name. No doubt Meg, Kristin or Layna mentioned it at some point, he simply couldn't remember hearing it. The man asked softly, "Is there something you wish to know?" How had he known that? The man looked up from his examination, bright blue eyes kind, and answered, "You must be quite puzzled."

In the same language (what was it?), Mikal admitted, "I cannot remember your name. I am sure that Meg, Kristin, or Layna mentioned how you are called, but I cannot remember it." He allowed his head to drop back to the pillows once more. He was so very tired, yet could not return to sleep. It eluded him for the moment, so he would distract himself from the frustration of being exhausted and unable to sleep. The man's answering smile was as kind as his eyes.

"My name is Gavin," the man answered with a faint smile, "Gavin Rafferty." Gavin Rafferty. A strange name, though Mikal had no idea how he came to that conclusion, considering he couldn't remember his own. Gavin continued, "And you are Mikal. . .at least, that's the name the girls have given you." Have given? Gavin merely smiled and Mikal sighed, closing his eyes once more. Of course, given. It was better than someone gesturing at him. . .they gave him a name, because no one knew his own. Unless. . . Mikal opened his eyes once more, staring at his new friend.

"Do you know my name? You speak. . .if not my language, then a language I recognize," he observed. Gavin looked away, and hope flooded into Mikal's heart. The injured man breathed, "You do! You know something! Please. . .tell me!" Gavin's eyes shifted down. . . a clear signal that he would not. . .or could not. . .tell him. Mikal didn't know how he knew that. Something that was becoming entirely too common, and he liked it not at all. But for now, there was nothing for it, and he simply had to. . .accept.

Instead, he turned his attention back to his surroundings. He knew this to be a woman's room. It was Meg's room, after all, and there was a part of him which balked at her giving up her room for him (the other, sensible part knew better. . .and right now, his sensible side was winning). And yet, it was not excessively womanly. Mikal wondered where that thought came from. . .what exactly did it mean to be excessively womanly? But he could not deny the truth of it. It was, as he noted before drifting off to sleep, quietly feminine. He wondered if she was like that as a child, then wondered where that knowledge came from. . .how did he know that the rooms of little girls often differed from those of women? When was he in the room of a girl-child?

"I cannot speak to you of your past," Gavin said suddenly, distracting him. Mikal turned his attention back to the dark-haired man, who continued, "You must remember things on your own. But I can, and I will, tell you of your new home. My name is Gavin Rafferty and I am a Marine. Before you ask the next, obvious question. . .a Marine is a warrior, one of five groups who have vowed to protect this country and these people. The Army, the Marines, the Navy, the Air Force, and the Coast Guard. Don't worry, there won't be a test later." Mikal just stared at his new friend in confusion. Gavin shook his head, muttering under his breath in his own language, then added, "A very bad jest, my friend."

Oh. Mikal blinked, shook his head, then Gavin continued with a rueful smile, "In any event, I'm sure the girls already told you this, but you now reside in the town of Campbell. The name of the State is North Carolina, and the country is the United States of America. That's a mouthful, so when we refer to our country, it's generally 'the US.'

We call ourselves 'Americans.' It formally came into being nearly two hundred fifty years ago. Before then, we were a colony to another country. I'll save the history and geography lessons for later. I know Meg and Layna have started teaching you English, but there are some things they won't think to teach you."

Such as? Gavin's eyes slid toward the privy and Mikal frowned. What was that supposed to mean? Gavin went on, "My sweet Meg is, in some ways, an incredibly meticulous thinker. She looks at something from any angle that occurs to her. But she doesn't think of all angles, because she can't. She thought of nearly all the angles when she decided that Kristin and Layna were right, and that you should come here to Campbell. Nearly all. . .but she never thought about your bodily needs, especially now, while you're still recovering." Bodily. . .oh. OH! Mikal's cheeks warmed as he finally understood what Gavin was telling him. He was not embarrassed by the knowledge of his bodily needs. . .however, the idea of a woman seeing him in such a manner did embarrass him. Twas not seemly, he believed.

Gavin smiled ruefully and explained, "Exactly. There are certain things that she won't be able to teach you, because she can't. I'll be here for a while, helping out, until you're strong enough to do those things for yourself." Yes, Mikal was extremely grateful for that! Why, just the idea of Meg. . .no, he was immensely grateful for Gavin's presence. Which brought up one other question. Mikal took a breath to speak but the other man added softly, "Meg and I will figure out where I sleep. Not a problem. . .not something you should worry about. Just rest, my friend. Just rest."

Good. That was good. Gavin went on, his voice softening, but no less a promise in his words, "I'll teach you about being a man in twenty-first century America. That doesn't mean you have to accept everything. . .just that I'll explain why things are the way they are. I'll teach you about barbecued ribs and chicken wings and Hooters, about Chikovsky (Tchaikovsky), Leest (Liszt), and PT Cruisers and race cars." Whatever that meant, Mikal had no idea, but he was quite certain that he would learn. He also appreciated that Gavin qualified his statement. Mikal was firmly convinced that he already knew about being a man, but Gavin evidently thought he needed help understanding this new place.

He was probably right. There were so many things he didn't understand. To make matters worse, there was also the problem of this sense he had sometimes, that his own world was so much different than this one. He remembered nothing, yet he was certain that women weren't ordinarily guardians in his society. Certainly, they protected their children and sometimes, they would even take up arms to defend their home, but that was the exception, rather than the rule. It seemed as if Meg and Layna were accepted in this society, in this culture.

As Mikal listened to the promises Gavin made to him, he drew comfort from one very important fact: that no matter what happened, no matter how strange he found this place, he would never be alone. Even those times when Meg or Layna or Kristin wouldn't. . . couldn't. . .be there, this man would be. Gavin merely smiled at him, that promise in his eyes. Comforted by that promise, by that certainty, Mikal drifted back to sleep. He still had much strength to regain.

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Good. He was asleep again. Gavin's command of the Sindarin tongue was failing him and he needed to get some rest as well. The flight home had exhausted him, to say nothing of the shock he received when he saw Boromir sitting in the wheelchair. He smiled ruefully, remembering the familiar sensation of his heart skipping more than just one beat. Up until that afternoon, when he saw his lost friend staring at him with innocent eyes, he never really understood the meaning of one's heart stuttering.

And he was tired. He could never really sleep on planes, especially not in the last four or five years. Add to that the shock of seeing Boromir and getting up at friggin' oh dark thirty this morning? Sleeping for a little while sounded like a really, really good idea. With a groan, Gavin slid out of the chair and went to Megan's closet. She kept a spare sleeping bag, for those nights when he stayed over and someone else was sleeping on her sofa. He supposed that he could sleep in the chair, but that would be most uncomfortable. He could relax on the floor, in a sleeping bag.

The sleeping bag was easily found (surprising, given that Megan was not the best housekeeper in the world) and he rolled it out onto the floor in front of her bed. He shook his head as he carefully stepped over the bag and went into the living room to make sure the door was locked and they could rest without worry. _Oh, Meggie, Meggie, Meggie_, he thought wearily as he glanced at the sleeping young woman, _when you make a big decision, you really go all out, don't you_? Not that he blamed her. On the contrary, if she left Boromir there, he wasn't sure if he could have forgiven her. On the other hand, if she _had_ left him, Gavin figured he would have never found out that Boromir was in this time. Still. . .there were times when Meggie really didn't think about certain things (though at least she remembered to lock the door before lying down to rest. This time, at least).

On the other hand, he remembered something that his ex-wife once said to him, with regards to his 'male perspective.' She was. . . giving him a hard time, just because. Gavin, not feeling especially patient, snapped, 'it's the only one I've got.' He figured it was the same with Megan. It wouldn't occur to her to think about Boromir's bodily needs. . .especially the one to relieve himself. Just as it wouldn't occur to her that she probably wasn't the best person to be bathing him. Gavin shook his head as he headed back into Megan's room, trying desperately to rid himself of that particular mental image. The last thing he wanted was to see Meg bathing Boromir in his mind's eye.

Even so. . .even if he hadn't been here, they would have figured something out. Elena and Megan together, with input from Kristin. He just couldn't be sure if they could have spared Boromir's dignity. Although, knowing Elena and Kristin, 'dignity' was a relative thing. The three of them would have probably struggled to get Boromir into the bathroom, Elena and Kristin's bickering would have annoyed Megan, and then Megan would have thrown them both out. Gavin snickered as he walked back into Meg's room, enjoying that particular movie playing in his head. Yes, she would have bathed Boromir carefully, one limb at a time, never mind that it would have taken her the rest of the afternoon. Determined, his Meggie was. Or tenacious. Stubborn. Obstinate.

He lay down on the sleeping bag, tucking one arm under his head. _Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves_, a long ago friend questioned, and Gavin smiled at the memory. For the first time since seeing Boromir earlier that morning, he allowed himself to think about his friends in that ancient life. Where were the other members of the Nine? Had they been reincarnated, as he was? He thought it likely. Gavin had vague memories of Legolas in a more recent life, though not nearly as clear as his memories of Aragorn. Memories he would just as soon not have. . .he read about the First World War in school, and that was horrifying enough.

Truthfully, he really didn't want the Aragorn memories, either. Part of it was simply a desire to be Gavin, to remain Gavin Rafferty, USMC. He was afraid that Aragorn would take him over, and Gavin was resisting that every step of the way. There was another facet to that reluctance, however: Aragorn had been a king, and Gavin wanted no part of that. He was a United States Marine, retired, and he wanted nothing to do with royalty. That wasn't him, not any more. And as beautiful as she was, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to find Arwen's reincarnation in this time. He was afraid he would be disappointed after Arwen's unearthly beauty.

Besides. His ex-wife was a stunningly beautiful woman, if shallow and self-centered. He supposed he wasn't much better, considering he was around his son's age when he got married. . .not even close enough to being mature enough to get married (and there were times when he wasn't sure if Reese was nine or nineteen). Then again, he was almost forty years old and he wasn't sure if he was mature enough to get married now. Gavin smirked as he heard Megan's response to that in his mind. Knowing her, she would just cast one of her long-suffering looks at him, shake her head, then sigh, '_Do you really want me to answer that, Gavin? I mean, really_?'

"No, Meggie," he said softly into the still room, "I don't think I do. I know your idea of payback, after all, and I _finally_ got that damned song out of my head." Although, he supposed he should be grateful to her. . .trying to get that damn song out of his head distracted him from something he really didn't want to think about: namely, Boromir's arrival in this time and the consequences that entailed. There would be consequences, of that he was certain. There were _always_ consequences. And then something else occurred to him, something that frightened him about as badly as the possible consequences of Boromir's arrival.

As of right now, time travel was impossible. Scientifically speaking, time travel remained an intriguing theory, along with the possible consequences of time travel. While he supposed it was, theoretically, possible that someone from the far distant future would have the capacity to go back in time. . .or, conversely, go forward in time (in this case, send someone else forward in time), why would that someone care? The War of the Ring took place more than thirty thousand years earlier, back before current recorded history. Most archaeologists would scoff at the notion that there were civilizations that far back. Why would anyone go into the past, retrieve a dying hero, heal his wounds, and then bring him forward in time?

Unless that someone wasn't human. . .wasn't mortal. . .wasn't even Elven. In which case. . .in which case. . . Gavin trembled a little. His mind didn't want to go there. Really, really did **not** want to go there, because that possibility was flat-out terrifying. Boromir was brought forward for a reason. He was brought forward in time, and if all Nine were here, in this time, now. . .then something was coming. Something extremely unpleasant at best, and downright evil at worst, and Gavin had no idea where the rest of the Nine were. Perhaps that was somewhat presumptuous, thinking that the Nine were required to defeat this evil, but they had done so in the past? Every one of the Nine (plus others) played a part in the ultimate defeat of Sauron.

But. . .on the other hand, what if the other nine were meant to find them? Gavin wasn't entirely certain he liked that idea, either. Campbell, this small Southern town, becoming the center of whatever was to come? No, he didn't like that one bit. Especially since, as Boromir's. . .well, guardians for now. . . Megan, Kristin, and Elena would be right smack dab in the middle of the whole mess. Right along with the rest of Gavin's family, the people who meant the most to him. Ooooh, no. Not good. Not good at all. Yes, Meg and Elena were both cops and damn good ones from what he heard, and yes, they could take care of themselves, but he couldn't say the same thing for either set of parents, or Kristin, for that matter. Besides. . .

Besides, that wasn't the point. Meg, Elena. . .they were family, and Gavin did whatever was necessary to protect his family. . .just as he did whatever he had to do to protect his men, his unit, his brothers. He was willing to make the hard choices, to make those sacrifices of his soul, and willing to carry those burdens. That could only go so far, he knew that. . .he couldn't be everywhere at all times, but he would do what he could, for as long as he drew breath. (And he was annoyed by the niggling voice in the back of his mind that such a trait was found in Aragorn as well)

Gavin sighed softly, his mind drifting back to the last moments between Aragorn and Boromir, ages ago. He thought about the man's condition, so badly wounded, and the stories Merry and Pippin told of his bravery while defending him. And then, he pushed himself up on his elbows to look at the sleeping man in the bed. He smiled to himself, realizing that he wouldn't be alone in any of this. One thing which remained true of Boromir, no matter which time. . .he would take those burdens on himself as well.

But that would come later. Right now, he needed his rest, and he needed to recover his strength. Not just by recovering from his wounds, but also by returning to warrior-fit condition. This was a far different world than the one Boromir would eventually remember. . .but he would need to be at his best for whatever came. Reassured by that knowledge, Gavin relaxed back in the sleeping bag, covered his eyes with his arm, and drifted off to sleep.

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_He learns quickly_, Pelagia thought, _far quicker than I would have anticipated. But these reincarnations and new souls alike have a way of doing that. . .of surprising me_. Gavin's thoughts were as clear to her as the sound of her sister's voice. More so, since she was listening to Gavin more closely. She could have told him that he was more Gavin than Aragorn, she supposed, but she didn't want to reveal her existence just yet. Besides, she had a sense that he needed to come to that conclusion himself. Gavin Rafferty, like others by that surname in the town of Campbell, had to figure things out for himself, before he would accept them.

_You have every right to be proud of them, sister mine_, her companion said, drawing her attention back to her own sister. Pelagia smiled at her. . .her sister had chosen the seeming mortal form of a somewhat older woman. . .one in her late forties or early fifties, with dark blonde hair and brown eyes. It suited her sister, Pelagia thought, for in some ways, she was the oldest sister. She called herself 'Boadicca,' after the queen of the Iceni, and like Pelagia herself, the name was used by her brethren and by her Champions alike. Names had power. Boadicca pointed this out as well, commenting, _The children do not realize they have protected him by giving him a new name. And you have told the people who need to know the truth._

_I am glad you understand, sister. I fear Valkyrie still does not,_ Pelagia observed. Unlike her sisters, Valkyrie actually created the legend of the warrior-maidens who carried the fallen heroes to Valhalla. In those early days, barely conscious warriors who survived their wounds saw her take dying warriors who fought with particular valor, and thus, the legend was born.

She gave them the legend, and in turn, they gave her a name. . .a name she continued to use, even now. But the first warrior claimed by Valkyrie and placed in modern times had gone insane, destroying Valkyrie's faith in her judgment as a Champion of Champions and her faith in her brethren when they placed warriors in the distant future (or present). She thought back to her conversation with Valkyrie, nearly three mortal weeks earlier (or fifty years in the future, or however you wish to count time).

Pelagia had removed Boromir's body from the Elven boat that carried him away from Amon Hen, and then took him to the Place in-Between, where his healing could begin. He slept deeply, obviously exhausted not only from his wounds and the fight, but his constant battle for his soul against the Ring. Pelagia was utterly determined that he would have as much rest as he needed (and only changed her mind reluctantly when it became necessary to place him in Raleigh earlier than she planned).

Boadicca was looking after her Champions, most likely conversing with them. There was a special bond between the Champions brought forward in time and the Protector responsible for that change. At least, that was true most of the time. This was the first time Pelagia was moved enough by a past warrior to prevent his (or her) death to bring that warrior forward in time. Ordinarily, she nurtured and Chose warriors of a particular time. She hoped that a similar bond would be created between herself and Boromir, but at the moment, her greatest hope was that he would be strong enough to make the transition from one world to another.

_Do you truly wish to do this, sister?_

Pelagia turned away from the object of her scrutiny, a sleeping man with dark gold hair. Her sister stood at her side, murmuring, _He is most valiant, but you know there is a price to be paid when we bring Champions forward in time. You remember Karsten._ She did, indeed, though she wanted to wring her sister's neck for ripping that scab from her wound yet again. Always in the past, they took a warrior, a Champion, a few hundred years into the future, when the medicine was somewhat better. Karsten was their first attempt to put someone into the modern world. The result was not pleasant. . . the poor man went insane when he was brought forward in time, a Viking in the modern day world. Pelagia understood her sister's concern for Boromir, a man from a time period more than thirty thousand years in the past.

_There have been successes. The young Champion who calls himself 'Norris.' Once he was a Commodore and Admiral, chasing pirates, more than three hundred years ago. Now, he sails the ocean, protecting the innocent and unwary from modern day pirates_, Pelagia pointed out, nodding to a dark-haired man in a yacht. James Norrington, he was called then. As Jamie Norris, he did his previous work with the same passion, with more compassion. Jamie Norrington was a good man. . .and if there was anything the Champions of Champions hated, it was a waste of a good man.

Pelagia returned her attention to the wounded man, somewhere between life and death, murmuring, _Jamie was one success story. . . Boromir can be another. We have learned since Karsten._ She was careful to say 'we,' even though it was her younger sister who actually brought him forward in time. It really didn't matter who brought him forward. They all learned a valuable lesson about the transition of Champions. Since none of them really had a concept of time, or the changes that occurred over time, it never occurred to any of the Protectors, what that transition could do to the human mind.

For now, there was nothing they could do for Karsten, who remained within an institution. . .for now. But there was much they could do for Boromir. Valkyrie sighed very quietly and murmured, _I suppose. Promise me that you'll not make the same mistakes I have? Promise me that your Champion will not become like Karsten? Pelagia could make no such promises_. All she could promise. . .and her sister knew that well. . . was that she would do her best to take care of her Champions.

Boadicca said quietly, drawing Pelagia's attention back to their current conversation, _The most difficult thing to learn, sister, is that powerful as we are, we are not omnipotent. We cannot see all, cannot anticipate all. None of us realized how Karsten would react when he was put into the world of the twenty-first century. For Boromir, the danger was not how he would react to this new time, but his own crushing guilt. I think wiping his memory protected him in more than one way, Pelagia._

Pelagia nodded, though she would have preferred to leave his memory alone. Unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be), Boromir was a stubborn man, and if she wanted him to take advantage of the second chance he had been given at life, then the memory wipe was necessary. However, as she was coming to realize, it also protected him from Karsten's immediate fate. . .being driven insane by this incredibly strange time. She observed,_ Tis my hope that he will accept the love and assistance that will be provided by my other Champions._

_He will, sister. . .he will. Remember, Boromir was the Captain-General of Gondor's Army, and that is not a position held by fools or incompetents. Besides, do you truly think that any of your Campbell_ _Champions would allow him to shut them out, even after he regains his memory? _Boadicca asked, raising her eyebrows in a questioning manner. Pelagia couldn't help laughing or shaking her head in agreement. No, there was no way Megan, Elena, or Kristin would allow that. Nor would Gavin, now that he realized Boromir was truly here.

Boadicca smiled and said, _Then no more worrying. Your new Champion is in the very best of hands. I know you sense the growing darkness, as I do, but we both must have faith in our Champions and their allies. Come, sister. We have other things that require our attention. _Pelagia blinked at her sister. Such as? Boadicca's smile actually turned impish as she observed, _Yes, I seem to remember a certain brother of ours who thought we were foolish for choosing to bring Boromir forward, rather than others of that time. We should explain to him, the folly of his ways!_

_Indeed, _Pelagia replied, choking back her laughter,_ and I actually have an idea of how to do that! _She was grateful to her sister for reminding her of the things she had forgotten. But one thing she could not do. . .she could not stop worrying for her Champions. Boadicca was correct. Something dark was coming. And she was uncertain if she and her brethren, or their Champions, were prepared for it.


	9. Everyday Life

Author's note: I meant to have this updated on Friday, along with my two Star Wars stories, but things didn't work out quite the way I planned. (rolls eyes) Typical. In any event, I do hope my American readers had a wonderful Thanksgiving. . .I know I did, spending it with my parents, two brothers, and all but two of their children. To my non-American readers, I hope all has been well with you. Without further ado, here's the next chapter, which includes two new characters. Jason Wellington is 'played' by Richard Armitage, aka Guy of Gisborne in the BBC series _Robin Hood_. And his grandfather? Well, you'll find out next chapter!

Chapter Eight

Everyday Life

"I need to go shopping."

Cal raised an eyebrow at Elena when she made this announcement. Okay. . .and his part in this was what, exactly? They were sitting in his grandmother's kitchen, finishing up their snacks. Cal was taking a break from fixing his grandmother's computer, and he had no real idea as to what Elena was doing, aside from keeping his grandmother company. Elena continued, "I need to go grocery shopping. . .I don't want to think about what my food supply looks like. . .or Meg's for that matter. . .after almost two weeks away."

"And I have what, exactly, to do with this?" Cal inquired, folding his arms over his chest. Elena merely smirked. Ohhh, no. He knew that smirk. Mind you, he didn't know Elena's expressions nearly as well as he knew Megan's, but he grew up with the latter. He didn't even meet Elena until they were teenagers. But he knew that smirk. . .oh, did he ever! And it almost always involved trouble. . .most often for him. The real question was, could he handle that kind of trouble?

"Oh, I was thinking you might like to get out of the apartment for a while. . .and help me carry the groceries to my car. . .and up the stairs here," Elena replied. Cal blinked at that comment. Here? Elena lost her smirk and leaned forward, dark eyes intent. Cal felt a bit like a butterfly attached to a poster board, seeing that expression. She said softly, "Yes. Here. Megan was already exhausted when we picked up her parents and Gavin at the airport. . .the drive home and fielding her mother's questions about Bethany would only make matters worse. The last thing on her mind will be food, but she has Michael to think about now. Gavin will be worn out from the flight, so I'm the best choice."

Well, hell, how could he argue with that? And he didn't even need to think about what his grandmother would say. . .she would shoo him out of the apartment and remind him that he could work on the computer later. He asked in resignation, "So what do you need me to do? Ferry you around Campbell, or just act as muscle?" Elena flashed him one of her more devastating smiles, one that usually made his knees weak. And today was no exception, dammit!

"A little of both, actually," Elena replied, eyes twinkling. Yeah, of course they were twinkling, she had won! She grew serious, adding, "I figure if we hit all of the grocery stores, plus the Super Wally-World, that should be enough." All of the grocery stores? Cal allowed himself a mental groan at the idea. Elena laughed at his expression, adding, "Hey, it won't be that bad! We'll get the lightweight stuff at one store, for Megan and Michael, the heavier stuff at another store for me, and anything we'd forgotten at the previous two at the third."

At least she had a plan, which was more than he could say for himself. He asked quietly, "What, exactly, do you mean by lightweight stuff for Michael?" It was, he thought, a fair question. Until he thought about where Elena and Megan just came from. The newcomer just spent two weeks in the hospital, and he was accustomed to bland food. Michael was also recovering from an abdominal wound. . .which meant he wasn't ready for spicy food. Too bad. Cal was looking forward to introducing him to pizza. Since he answered his own question, Cal moved on to the next part, "When do you want to leave?"

"Do you think your grandmother will be all right for the next hour or two? Nico will be here, but. . ." Elena began. Her gaze slid toward the computer in the next room, and Cal smirked a little. The woman opposite him growled a little, adding, "I just want to make sure she'll be all right! She was nice enough to loan Nico to us while we were away, and I know that helped Michael!"

"Anyone ever tell you that you're cute when you get defensive?" he asked with a half-smile. Elena just stuck her tongue out at him, and Cal went on, "I'll go check with her, then take a look at the computer while you're putting the list together. Yes, you need a list, I ain't traipsing all over Campbell without a list. You know what you need, you have a basic idea of what Meg needs. . .put a list together, then I'll check with Gran to see if she has any coupons."

"You do realize 'ain't' isn't a word?" Elena asked primly. Cal rolled his eyes, partly in amusement and partly in exasperation. She just giggled and said, "Okay, amigo, I already have the beginnings of a list in my head. I just need to go down to Megan's apartment and check out what she needs. . .aside from everything." Cal smirked. Yeah, he knew what she meant. Meg was actually a decent cook, but she usually either lacked the time, the energy, or the incentive to cook. Cooking for one really wasn't a lot of fun, as Cal knew himself.

"You have a key to her apartment," Cal observed and Elena just looked at him as if he'd said the dumbest thing imaginable. Okay, so it wasn't the brightest thing he could have said, but. . .alright, it wasn't the brightest thing he could have said. He had always known that Elena had a key to Megan's apartment, just as Megan had a key to Elena's. Elena just smirked and Cal mock-glowered at her, adding, "Oh, go make your list!" But he smiled as her laughter followed him from the room.

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It was outlandish. Utterly absurd. He had responsibilities and obligations here, he could not simply go traipsing off. . .

But they were right. Both Maureen and Pelagia were right. He did need to pick his van up, he did need to check on Boromir and see to the girls. And. . .and he did need the rest. Ronan Daly slumped back in his chair, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. He thought of his conversation with Pelagia, in which she told him that she wanted him to leave for Campbell after finishing up with his patients for the day. . .and then, his earlier conversation with Maureen, in which she told him that going to Campbell at the end of the week wasn't a bad idea at all.

The thing was, it was almost week's end. Damn the women in his life. However, there was no heat to it. Just aggravation, frustration, irritation, and all the other 'ation' that went with dealing with females. Especially when they were right. Ronan flipped open his schedule for the following day. . . and barely held back a yelp of frustration. Now he _knew_ there were at least some items on the calendar for Friday, because he distinctly remembered putting them there! Controlling his frustration with an effort, he picked up the phone and dialed Maureen's extension at the nurse's station. She answered, sounding absent-minded, and Ronan asked in as a steady voice as he could manage, "Maureen, do you know if my cases for tomorrow have been given to another doctor?"

"Mmmmm, let me check. Mr. Malloy had to go out of town. . .his younger sister is dealing with her husband walking out on her," Maureen began. Ronan rolled his eyes. Not at his patient or at the steel which appeared in the head nurse's voice, but at the stupidity of any man who walked out on a woman who had an older brother. As the older brother to three younger sisters, Ronan knew better than anyone else just what older brothers were willing to do on the behalf of their little sisters. And while Maureen's late husband never walked out on her, it was a situation through which her oldest daughter suffered. She was raising four kids and going back to school to become a CPA. The less said about what happened to her former son-in-law, the better.

Maureen continued after a moment, "Mrs. Nelson needed to reschedule. . .she couldn't get the time off from work, so she's rescheduling for the day she does have off. And the only other appointment you had for tomorrow was the orientation meeting with the new volunteers. The coordinator got sick, so that's been rescheduled as well. Your calendar is clear, Ronan."

Ronan could only stare at the phone in shock. Of _course_ Pelagia knew about all this ahead of time, she was a demi-goddess, if not a goddess! He could have smacked his forehead on the desk, but Maureen was on the phone, waiting patiently. He said, sighing a little, "Thank you, Mo. I have a few more patients to check on, and then I'm heading to Campbell. I'll try to be back Monday." Emphasis on 'try.' He had to figure out how he would get back to Raleigh on Monday with both his usual car and his van. Then there was the whole matter of Boromir. Ronan wasn't sure if he'd want to leave his friend's side, no matter what happened. He trusted Megan, Elena and Kristin to take care of him, but that didn't make up for thirty thousand years of missing his friend.

"Take your time, Ronan, you have plenty of it," Maureen advised. Well, that was true enough. With most of his children still in Ireland, involved with their own lives, Ronan accumulated quite a bit of leave. He had been back to Ireland a few times since his wife's death, but during his last visit, it became clear that it was no longer home. Ronan allowed himself a brief, ironic smile. Too Irish for America, too American for Ireland. Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true. While his accent got some attention from his patients, it was largely of the 'COOL!' variety. Although, Ronan did need a translation when one of his teenage patients informed him that his accent was 'really sick.' Not especially something a doctor wanted to hear, even after learning from the teen's older sister that 'sick' was the new 'wicked cool.'

"You have my beeper number and my cell, if you need me," Ronan told his long-time friend, as he always did when he left even for a long weekend. Twenty-five years. Where had the time gone? Ronan mentally shook his head. He was turning into an old fool, lamenting the passage of time. That was life. And he had work to do. Right. The first thing he needed to do was finish his rounds for the day. It was more to reassure himself than anything else. . .maybe to reassure his patients as well. He learned that it helped his patients recover when they knew their doctor actually cared for them.

"Have a great time. And, Ronan? Relax," Maureen counseled. Ronan smiled and ended the call, then turned his attention to his rounds. Much to his surprise, several of his patients were actually pleased for him that he was taking some time off, even if it was just a few days. He looked tired, they told him, and the time away would be good for him. It wasn't good for a person, one of his older patients told him extremely severely, to work too much. They would burn out, and then where would Ronan or his patients be? Heartened by his patients' compassion, Ronan left the hospital feeling much better about his decision to leave for a few days.

That lasted right up until he reached his apartment. Ronan never really thought about his apartment very much. It was a place to sleep when he wasn't working, but he really hadn't had a home in several years. . .not since his wife died, if he was really honest about it. Most of the time, he was at work and asleep in the doctor's lounge (or on the sofa in his office, though that didn't happen as often). He really didn't spend that much time here. And it showed.

Ronan shook his head. He had work to do. He really needed to stay focused. . .based on what Pelagia said (and didn't say), Boromir and the girls would have need of him soon. He found the duffel bag in his bedroom closet, the bag that his niece bought for him when he left Ireland. Funny, but Pelagia reminded him of her. . .not just in her long blonde hair, but in her very name. Pegeen. She was. . .how old was she now? Forty, forty-five? Something like that. But in his mind, she was still the beautiful little girl his sister brought into the world. He supposed that was the way. You never really saw your children as they were, but rather, as the little ones they were at one time.

He wondered if the girls' parents felt that way. . .Megan and Kristin. What were their names? Alison and Fred? No, their father was Francis. . .and he didn't think their mother's name was Alison. Alicia? Alexandra? Aileen? That wasn't it, either. He would remember it, eventually. . .hopefully before one of the girls had to remind him. Ronan supposed that the girls wouldn't expect him to remember, but he did. . .especially with all the time he spent with the pair while they were here.

Not quite as much time as he spent with the Fellowship during their journey. . .not even Boromir or Legolas, but still a great deal of time. He chose to focus on that, rather than how very. . .empty. . .his life seemed away from the hospital. Ronan thought about the conversations he had with all three girls. Elena loved to talk about her nieces and nephews and loved to show off pictures of them even more. Actually, saying that she 'talked' about them was something of an understatement. . .the more correct phrase would be, 'bragged' about them constantly.

Kristin was often focused on her studies to become a doctor, when she wasn't worrying about her older sister or about Boromir. But it wasn't just the science itself, or the patients. It was the whole picture. The kids in the pediatrics ward utterly adored her, for the coloring books and crayons she bought at the local dollar store, but more for the attention she lavished on each child. She loved children and they knew it. As Mo was wont to say, dogs and kids knew the marshmallows around them. Kristin, he discovered, was a marshmallow for both children and canines.

Megan. Years ago, as Gimli, he overheard someone compare Eowyn and Boromir. There were similarities between the young shieldmaiden and his friend. . .but for some reason, Ronan saw the opposite similarities between Megan and Faramir. Both quiet, both basically gentle, and both incredibly deadly when the situation called for it. She didn't tell him about the case which led her and Elena to come up to Raleigh, but she did tell him about those horrifying times when she found it necessary to kill. Ronan found it more telling, the flat tone of voice she used when speaking of those harsh necessities than the words themselves. As if she was trying to protect herself from what she had to do.

He wasn't unfamiliar with the defense mechanism. . .he used something similar.

Yes, he missed them all, and he missed Boromir. His Sindarin and Westron were both going downhill rather rapidly without Boromir around for practice. Ronan thought with some amusement that his friend wouldn't appreciate being considered practice. . .on the other hand, he would most assuredly enjoy the practice itself. He would need a sparring partner, once he regained his strength and his memory. And he would need a friend, someone who was there, at least in one respect. He would need Gimli, son of Gloin. . .he would need Ronan Daly.

And Ronan needed to be there, too.

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As Ronan Daly was noticing just how empty his own apartment was, Kristin Rafferty was noticing the exact opposite. She had carried her bags to her room while Gavin talked with her parents, and that was where she stood now. Her room, her sanctuary, the location of her castle. A faint smile touched Kristin's mouth, remembering a tiny, dark-haired girl crawling into a cardboard castle, a princess of a land that didn't exist. She remembered the dolls who were her daughters and sons, the stuffed animals who were her pets. The castle was long gone, lost to the ravages of time and an overly excited child, but the dolls and the stuffed animals remained.

The walls, once decorated with posters of rock singers and teen idols, were now adorned with the latch-hook rugs she had made, and the velvet posters her sister had completed. Her particular favorite, an exotic Spanish flamenco dancer, held prominent position over the headboard of her bed. It had taken Megan close to six months to complete that, between running out of markers and the shifts she had taken at work. But on Kristin's eighteenth birthday, her older sister had presented it to her, and then helped her to hang it up. It stayed there ever since.

In the corner, beside Kristin's walk-in closet, sat her desk. . .a rolltop desk, something she wanted ever since she saw it in one of her dollhouses. It was a gift from her grandfather Rafferty when she turned fourteen and entered high school, and here it would remain until Kristin had a proper apartment. Here, where it would be safe. On top of the desk sat her photographs. . .the family portrait that was taken when she was a small girl, the picture of her settled on Megan's hip after her older sister graduated from college. In fact, most of her pictures could be found in her sister's apartment, in varying sizes.

There were, in fact, very few pictures from college. On the other hand, whatever pictures she didn't have on her desk were at college. But those she always put away when she was leaving for any length of time. Her eyes shifted next to the CD's neatly filed in the cubbyholes of her desk. Just the way she left them. She smiled and turned her attention next to the floor beside her desk. Her scrapbooks. Again, just the way she left them. Kristin eased herself to the ground, running her fingers lightly over the spirals of the books. There were scrapbooks of various things that held her interest. She kept a scrapbook the first year the Carolina Hurricanes were actually in North Carolina, fascinated as she was with hockey at the time. She still loved hockey, just as her sister did, but she no longer had crushes on the players.

Here was another scrapbook, handled far less often. Kristin smiled a little. She'd been nine or ten. . .and her assignment was to collect, preserve, and label leaves around their house. Like many children, she was given to procrastination and waited until the night before to do the bulk of the work. Her older sister, home from college for some reason she couldn't recall now, spent that evening helping Kristin to collect the leaves and that night ensuring the items were properly pressed and placed in the book. Kristin kept the book as a reminder not to leave things to the last minute. . .among other reasons.

And then she saw something else, something she'd almost forgotten. Her little treasure box. Kristin smiled with delight, reaching for the small box. Meg made this for her. . . when was it? She couldn't remember. It wasn't even for shop class, which Meg and Elena both took in high school. Art class, maybe? That sounded about right. Kristin smiled as she ran her fingers over the box, remembering how much her sister hated art class. She couldn't draw to save her life, and to make matters worse, her teacher was one of those who penalized someone who couldn't draw. Fortunately, he was gone by the time Kristin got to high school. But the box remained.

Kristin removed the lid, trying to remember what was inside. It had been a few years since she opened it. One thing she remembered from the last time she pulled it out. . . finding things that obviously had some meaning for her when she put them in, but had no idea what they were for now. Kind of like a time capsule, now that she thought about it. That wouldn't be the case this time. She shifted her position until she was more comfortable, and then removed each item, one by one.

First was the unused candle that Elena gave to her for her fifteenth birthday, her quinceanera. According to tradition, a young girl's fifteenth birthday was the ending of her childhood and the beginning of her womanhood. Elena explained that to her, as well as why she gave Kristin a candle for her birthday. Candles meant light, and light meant hope. She should use her candle wisely, lighting only in the darkest of times. The gift, and the sentiment behind it, meant a great deal to Kristin and she hugged Elena, then put the candle in her treasure box.

Next was a small box. But it wasn't any ordinary box. . .no, this box held a very special piece of jewelry. It was her grandmother Sayre's final gift to her. . .her grandmother's way of telling her, reminding her that even if she wasn't born into this family, she was very much a Rafferty and very much a McFarlane. It was her grandfather's dogtags from the Second World War. Megan inherited their grandmother's engagement ring, but Sayre wanted her younger granddaughter to have something to the grandfather she never had the chance to meet. The dogtags were it, and they remained within her treasure box, never to be worn. They were too sacred to be worn casually.

Kristin reverently replaced Craig McFarlane's dogtags back in the jewel box, before turning her attention to the next item. She smiled ruefully, shaking her head in amused remembrance. It was a framed copy of her first paystub, working as a window cashier for Lady J. She had been sixteen when she began working there part-time, and she was so proud of her first paycheck as a real working girl, she talked her father into buying a frame for her paystub. Her mother teased her about it for days, and Megan just smiled softly at her, her eyes reflecting pride as much as amusement.

Megan. Kristin turned her attention to her next item. . .the newspaper article which ran when her sister and Elena graduated from the police academy. It was a nice article from the Campbell _Seeker_, but whoever wrote the article spelled her sister's name wrong (Meagan, instead of Megan). Even so, the article was worth keeping. Besides, every time she saw the reporter in question, she gave her a hard time about it. That was one of the advantages of living in a relatively small town. . .if the mayor or local reporters did something stupid, you could say so to their face(s). Like the paystub, it was framed.

The final item in the box made her smile, murmuring, "I wondered what happened to this." Carefully, she picked up the seashell, which her parents brought back from Florida a few years ago. Kristin saw too many movies while she was growing up, in which something nasty bit down on the ear of someone 'listening' to the ocean. . .so she simply cradled it carefully in her hands, admiring the simple beauty of the shape and the colors. She murmured, "So pretty."

"Reconnecting, baby girl?" her father asked from her open door. Kristin looked up, startled. She never even heard him approach. He entered the room and knelt beside her, stroking his hand over her long black hair, commenting, "Gavin said he was heading to Meg's apartment. Your big sister forgot a few things when she decided to bring that young man home with her." Forgot a few things? Like what? Their father observed rather wryly, "I don't think Meg thought about who would help Michael with private matters." Priv. . .oh. OH! Kristin felt her cheeks burn. That made two of them. While she helped with bedpans, that was a far cry from helping a man into the bathroom.

"Well, nobody's perfect. . .and Meg is the absolute first person who will tell you that she's the furthest thing from perfect," Kristin offered. Their father chuckled and Kristin continued, "And yeah, I guess you could say I'm reconnecting. The last time I opened this box, I lost track of. . .well, I forgot why I saved whatever it is." Dad settled himself more comfortably on the floor beside her, rubbing his thumb over the glass which protected her first paystub.

"Funny thing about that, Kris. . .you find yourself looking for that very item years later," he said softly. Frowning, Kristin shifted to look at him more closely. His bright blue eyes were distant as he went on, "I remember once, a long time ago, I lost track of something that I loved so much. The funny thing is, for a while before I lost h. . .lost it, I also lost track of my own feelings. I forgot what this meant to me." Kristin shivered a little, sensing there was far more that her father wasn't telling her. He noticed and pulled himself back to the present, running his free hand up and down her forearm, adding, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just. . .don't be so quick to throw things away, baby doll. You just never know when something that seems useless will be exactly what you need."

He pulled himself upright with a grunt, holding onto the edge of her desk. Kristin looked up, still feeling unsettled, and he ruffled her hair, saying with a smile, "Don't spend too much time in the past either. . .your mother doesn't feel like cooking, so we'll probably order in for pizza. And the last I checked, the only time you wouldn't eat pizza was if you'd eaten it for lunch or if you were sick." Kristin had to smile at that. . .that, at least, hadn't changed much. She would still eat pizza just about anytime.

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"Grandfather. . .I'm home!"

Jason Wellington frowned thoughtfully as no answer echoed back through the house. That was odd. He could have sworn his grandfather planned to be home this afternoon. Unless he got his days mixed up (again), which was entirely likely. Now retired from his university position, his grandfather spent his days looking after Jason's seven year old daughter and running a dog sanctuary out of their home. Natalie was at school right now, and the dogs were silent.

Shower first, he resolved, then figure out where Grandfather is. His aching neck and shoulder muscles were begging for relief. While his meetings in South Carolina (Florence and Dillon specifically) went well, he didn't think he'd be hearing from his potential clients for a few weeks. On the other hand, the drive home was so aggravating he promised himself that the most stressful decision he would make was whether he would stop at Shoney's or Cracker Barrel for lunch. It ended up being Shoney's. . .he didn't have the energy to resist the temptation always presented itself in the gift shop of the Cracker Barrel. . .especially since he stopped at South of the Border on his way down.

His ex-wife had hated the restaurant/gift shop, but he'd fallen in love with it the first time he visited it. That was about twelve years earlier, when he was spending Thanksgiving in Virginia with his college roommate. I should call Zeke today or tomorrow, Jason reflected, loosening his tie as he made his way into the bedroom, then the bathroom, haven't spoken with him in a while. Zeke had warned him that Corinne was bad news. Typical young male, Jason hadn't listened. Zeke warned him. His grandfather warned him. Everyone warned him. He didn't listen.

Still, Jason couldn't complain. He got Natalie out of the bargain, and his ex-wife's job led them to Campbell. He had been born and raised in England, and despite the uncomfortable heat of the North Carolina summers, he'd fallen in love with the American South. His ex-wife hated it, hated the South, hated Campbell. . .hated being a wife and mother. So she had left them all. . .Campbell, the South, Jason, their six month old daughter. Wanted to find herself, she said. Jason's grandfather, who never particularly liked her, made the sharp statement that, 'I believe that is the purpose of university. . . furthering one's education and 'finding' oneself.' He had just arrived from England, and Jason had smiled at his grandfather, before breaking down.

He could have never done this without his grandfather. No matter how much he might have complained about his grandfather's high-handedness, about tripping over the dogs, about the barking, Jason wouldn't trade any of it if it meant losing his grandfather. Dr. Lucius Wellington had raised him from the time he was fifteen years old, had warned him about Corinne, never once said 'I told you so' and moved across the ocean from his beloved England to this tiny town in North Carolina, simply because Jason and Natalie needed him.

His grandfather had said on many occasions that he had committed great sins, some of which turned Jason's father against him. But Jason couldn't imagine his grandfather ever committing such terrible crimes. . .not the man who had learned to take care of and guide an angry, embittered, hormonally charged teenaged boy. His grandfather was the one and only reason why Jason was a decent person, was capable of loving his daughter, was capable of taking care of her at all.

He reminded himself of that as he tripped over his grandfather's most recent rescue. She was a beautiful Shetland puppy. . .unfortunately, Hobby was teething and she had a terrible habit of yipping as well as nipping. Not surprisingly, his daughter adored her. . .then again, Natalie adored most of the dogs whom his grandfather rescued. Jason spent the next fifteen minutes calming down the puppy, who was not at all happy about having her nap interrupted, not even by a human she liked.

Which was why he still hadn't gotten his shower when the front door seemed to implode off its hinges and his elegant, meticulous, impossibly civil grandfather shouted, "That arrogant old biddy of a harridan!" The door slammed and Hobby whimpered, diving under his grandfather's bed. Jason groaned and pushed himself to his feet, now rubbing at his forehead. This was not looking promising. Especially not when his grandfather continued in Latin,

There was only one person who caused this kind of reaction in his grandfather. . .and now that Jason thought about it, he realized he had a meeting with her today. With a sigh, Jason rose to his feet and headed into the kitchen. His grandfather was still ranting, but not as loudly as he had been. Oh yes, Dorcas Meriweather had done it once more. What made it worse was, she was one of the biggest contributors to his grandfather's dog sanctuary, and his grandfather was a very pragmatic man. While he could have done without her contributions. . .it would have made things a lot harder.

Dorcas Meriweather was, by all accounts, a good woman. She gave generously to many charities in town, helping to clothe the cold and feed the hungry. And feeding the hungry also meant dogs. She was also a terrible gossip, and troublemaker. It was nothing for her to stir up trouble, just because she could, for as something serious as an argument to as petty as someone remaining friends with the guilty part. His grandfather utterly despised her, and to the best of Jason's knowledge, she was tolerated rather than liked.

One thing both Jason and Lucius had learned during their time in this town was how the real grande dames of Campbell behaved. Women like Johanna Watkins, Regine Farrell (his grandfather never called Mrs. Farrell 'Jean,'), Sayre McFarlane and others never called attention to their charitable works, unless it was to try to get support for those particular causes. They certainly didn't do it to make themselves look good, which was often the attitude Ms. Meriweather demonstrated. Even more damning was Mrs. Meriweather's attitude that she was in some way superior to the grande dames in question. According to Mrs. Farrell (who also supported the dog sanctuary), Mrs. Meriweather was 'the very definition of a damn Yankee, bless her heart.'

Jason's grandfather had raised an eyebrow when Mrs. Farrell mentioned this, asking, '_I do hope we aren't regarded as 'damn Yankees,' especially since my grandson and I are both British subjects_.' The lady had merely smiled and responded, '_not at all, Dr. Wellington, though I'm sure my mother would have had a few interesting epithets for you, since she was French_.' That had provoked an outburst of laughter from his grandfather, something Jason had never heard.

The young man went into the kitchen, where his grandfather was now puttering around, still growling under his breath. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Dorcas Meriweather had done this time, because when his grandfather was this angry, it was because she had done or said something so incredibly stupid, Jason found it hard to believe she was capable of getting out of bed in the morning, much less function in society. His grandfather stopped in the middle of chopping vegetables, pointed the knife in his general directions and snarled, "That woman is a menace to society!"

"I've no doubt of that, Grandfather. You've said that of Mrs. Meriweather so many times, it's a wonder you don't simply call her 'Menace' Meriweather," Jason responded cheekily. His grandfather glared at him, but Jason only smirked. The young man continued after a moment, a little more seriously, "You shouldn't let her upset you like that, Grandfather. She really isn't worth it. Why don't you let me handle her from now on? She seems to like me."

"Of course she likes you, Jason! A handsome young man like yourself. . .that old biddy would fall all over herself on your account! And much as I'm tempted to let you deal with her, I won't because a) the dog sanctuary is my responsibility, not yours; b) you have your own career to deal with and c) there is no way I would allow that harpy near any young man, much less my own grandson! She is a piranha!" his grandfather exclaimed. Jason chose not to point out that he had called her a harpy, a biddy, and a piranha within five minutes of each epithet.

"To answer your first point, the dog sanctuary may be your primary project, but I have helped out on it more times than either of us can count, as has Natalie. If my seven year old can wash dogs that weigh twice what she does, then I can deal with Dorcas Meriweather. Point number two, I'm between clients right now. Point number three. . . well, I really can't answer that. What did she do this time?" Jason finally asked. His grandfather just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter one whit. . .she's a soulless bitch with no compassion," he bit out angrily. Jason raised both eyebrows, startled by the words and the venom. His grandfather was not a sentimental man by nature. The older man's dark eyes were haunted as he said, "With the sins I've committed in my life, Jason, I've learned the value of compassion. About two weeks ago, a young man was found in Raleigh. . .a young man who had lost his memory, who was fighting for his very life. He had nowhere to go. Two young women, who live in this town, learned of his existence and his plight. They chose to bring him here, where people could take care of him. And do you know what that selfish biddy is saying about them? She's insinuating that they're nothing more than whores, for bringing an unknown man into their respective homes!"

With that, he slammed the knife down. Jason frowned. It sounded like Dorcas Meriweather, all right. The young man asked, "What did the others have to say about this? You're ranting about her, but not about them. . .did they simply smile politely and roll their eyes, did some of them agree with her, did some of them say she was a fool?" His grandfather sighed, some of the tension easing out of his body, and picked up the knife once more.

"The prevailing opinion is that they would have thought less of them if they had allowed that boy to remain where he was. Besides, with his condition, there isn't much he can do at the moment," his grandfather replied. Jason nodded, still not understanding. They were both used to Dorcas Meriweather, after all. Then the man who had always been there for Jason, no matter what the situation said heavily, "With the things I've seen and done in my life, Jason. . .I will not allow those girls to be treated badly for showing a lost man compassion."

What could Jason say to that? There was very little he could say, and the engineer asked quietly, "Is there anything I can do?" He doubted it. . .doubted it rather strongly. And his grandfather shook his head, which Jason expected. But he had to ask. There was nothing more to be said on this subject. . .so Jason changed it, saying, "I don't know when I'll hear from any of the people I spoke with in South Carolina. They seem to take the possibility of an earthquake seriously, but the decision-makers seem to be like the Council here in Campbell. . .unwilling to actually do anything about the possibility. . ."

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He had no idea of the time when he awakened once more. There was still light shining through the window. In truth, he had no desire to find out the time. The only thing he truly wanted to do was lie in this magnificent, warm bed. Unfortunately, his body was telling him something else entirely. Mikal groaned a little, knowing that the needs currently making themselves known would not simply go away if he ignored them. On the contrary, they would only become worse.

A quick glance told him that the privy was no more than a few steps away. Surely he could make such a short distance under his own power? Carefully, Mikal threw the blankets to one side, shuddering a little at the pain. He could do this. He could make the short journey from the bed to the privy, and he could do this thing without awakening Gavin, who was sleeping at the foot of the bed. He could and he would. He remembered nothing of his previous life, but he was absolutely sure that he had the strength to do such a small thing. . .

His hand wavered as he slid his legs over the side of the bed. . ._a voice in his mind, his voice, repeating in a dreamy voice, such a little thing as he stared at a gold ring he held by its chain._ Mikal settled his hand in the blanket, gripping it as tightly as he could. . ._but he could feel the cold air, it was so very cold, and this ring, this small ring, so innocent, so harmless. . ._ Roughly, Mikal shook himself and forced himself to focus as he settled his feet on the ground. That proved to be a mistake. The moment he tried to stand, his legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground with a thump and a cry of pain he didn't quite manage to stifle. That pain nearly whitened out his vision, and he lay very still.

As his vision began to return to normal, something seemed out of place. A blonde woman, who looked incredibly familiar, knelt over him, scolding, "You must be more careful, child. . .ask for help when you need it!" He would have argued, but he hadn't the breath for it. The woman (long, pale blonde hair and green eyes, so terribly familiar) stroked his hair back from his forehead, saying more gently, "There are two in this place who would help you gladly, love, but you must ask for it. And speaking of which, here comes one of those who would help you."

There came the sound of footsteps, and then Gavin was kneeling beside him, worry obvious in his bright eyes. The woman was gone, Mikal discovered, but Gavin was here. He said in the language Mikal understood easily, his scolding tone making the question redundant, "What are you doing out of bed?" His eyes strayed over Mikal, and then noticed the direction he was heading, and his expression softened. He looked back at Mikal, asking, "You need to relieve yourself?" Mikal nodded. . .just barely. He was in too much pain to do anything more. Gavin continued, "Hold onto me. . .and we'll hope Meg didn't hear you cry out." Well, yes, Mikal didn't want that, but why didn't Gavin want that? His new friend added, "She's asleep, and I'd like her to stay that way a little longer."

Oh. Of course. When he could move without crying out, Mikal pushed himself up onto his elbows, pain pulsing through his torso despite his careful attempts. Once he was able to sit upright, Gavin very carefully slipped his arm around Mikal's waist. Little by little, helped Mikal to his feet, taking all of Mikal's weight. The newcomer found himself grateful that Gavin was here, rather than Meg. . .she was so very small. There was no doubt in his mind that she was strong, but she shouldn't have to bear his weight.

As Gavin helped him into the privy, he explained that Meg received very little sleep, because of her duties as a guardian. Mikal understood, without truly understanding how he understood. Ever so often, he would lapse into the new language, English, but he would correct himself, and repeat what had been said. With Gavin distracting him with conversation, Mikal was able to make it to the privy without being humiliated by the necessity of assistance. At least it was Gavin who was at his side, rather than Meg or Layna, Kristin. . .or one of the junior healers with the pan.

Once his needs were relieved, Gavin eased him to his feet and the half step to the odd water pump. There was a strange sound from the privy, but Mikal was more fascinated by the water running over his hands. Gavin had only to move a knob, and the temperature would grow warmer or hotter. Smiling at Mikal's wide eyes, Gavin turned the knob, and the water completely vanished. It occurred to him that he saw some of this when he first met Gavin, but he was actually in too much pain to really notice. He was in pain still, of course, but now, he used the strange occurrence to distract him. There were so many strange and wondrous things he saw since he awoke. . .and just when he thought nothing more could surprise him, he discovered how wrong he was (the talking sign came immediately to his mind. . .how exactly did that work?)

"Better?" Gavin asked as he gently wiped Mikal's hands dry with a soft towel. Mikal bobbed his head once, smiling in relief. Yes. Much better. Gavin smiled back, adding, "Good. Then let's get you back to bed, where you belong. Hopefully, Meg will sleep a little longer. Once she wakes up, I'll go out for food." Mikal wasn't sure if he could eat right now, but he knew it would be necessary sooner or later. Besides, while food wasn't necessary to him right now, getting back to bed was. He allowed himself to lean on Gavin as the other man led him out of the privy and back to the soft, warm bed.

His companion murmured, "I should find a way for you to communicate us if we're asleep or not in the room. . .don't want you hurting yourself." Well, that sounded like an excellent idea. However, now that his body's needs were taken care of, Mikal was feeling rather sleepy and didn't want to think anything but sleep. Gavin maneuvered him into the bed, covering him again. Mikal sighed quietly, nestling down into the pillows. Gavin squeezed his shoulder, and then lay down at the foot of the bed once more, a sentinel guarding him.

And, of course, now in bed, Mika found it difficult to return to sleep. He would have laughed or sighed, if he did not hurt so much. Instead, and not for the first time, he wondered about Gavin. The other man seemed to recognize him, as did Meg's father, but Meg hadn't. . .nor had Kristin, or Layna. Only Meg's father, Gavin, and Ronan. Gavin and Ronan spoke to him in languages he understood. . .if only briefly in Ronan's case. But Mikal understood the words nonetheless.

But he'd been over this before in his mind. That was the trouble with being injured this badly. He was glad (he thought) that he was alive. . .but he had entirely too much time to think. It wasn't the first time such a thing had occurred to him and he was quite certain it wouldn't be the last. Mikal wondered what he would do, once his body healed. Meg and Layna were guardians. Ronan and Kristin were healers, and in his heart, Mikal was sure that he was a guardian of some kind.

Right now, however, he couldn't guard much of anything. He was too weak, unable to visit the privy on his own. He would have sighed, but the fall a few minutes earlier made him leery of moving too terribly much. There was a sigh from the foot of the bed and Gavin pushed himself up, saying, "I'll turn on the teevee. Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be something good to watch." One thing Mikal hated about the teevee, being unable to understand what was being said, might help him get to sleep. He would sleep, and eat what they wanted to eat. He would learn this English, and he would regain his strength. Only in that way would he be able to take his place as a guardian. Only in that way would he be able to repay Layna, Meg, and Kristin.

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_Yes, my champion_, Pelagia thought, _watching over the now-sleeping Boromir and the reincarnation of Elessar, rest and heal. Once you heal, once you regain your strength, you will also regain your life. No, not as you remember it, but a new life. Perhaps even a better life. _Boromir had already begun his tasks as her Champion, and there was much he could do before he even regained his strength or his memory. There was a Christmas party coming up at the local community center, and Pelagia knew that Megan's mother Ailsa was even now scheming to get her elder daughter to attend. . .and Boromir along with her. That promised to be quite a challenge.

Pelagia would leave the convincing to Francis and Gavin Rafferty. Ronan was on his way from Raleigh, and by week's end, three members of the original Fellowship would be reunited. Gabriel Wainwright was yet needed in Oklahoma, and Legolas would take his time coming from Vancouver. He, along with Haldir, was needed where he was. But there was another in Campbell, a former enemy who might yet be an ally. He stood between the darkness and the light, and had yet to make a conscious choice either way.

For now, she had other work elsewhere. She had promised her sister that she would check on her Champions in this time while Boadicca was sorting out a problem in another time frame. Satisfied that Boromir was in the very best of hands, Pelagia vanished, to return when she was needed once more.


	10. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Author's Note: And here we have a new chapter! I know it's somewhat shorter than normal, but I figured an abbreviated chapter was preferable to a longer wait. We have a new voice this chapter, though it is someone you have met before, along with a slight jump in time. Hope y'all enjoy it, and while I'm on vacation this week, I do plan to get started on the next chapter. . .once I figure out who gets to talk this time around. I planned to have a Gavin section, but he stubbornly refused. I think he wants to save all his talking for the last few chapters (as this particular story has only two or three more chapters. Then I have to figure out which story comes next)

Chapter Nine

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Wonderful. Another close call. That was the third one in the last two weeks. If she didn't know better, she would swear he was doing it on purpose. However, this was a small town and he showed no sign of recognizing her, much less crossing her path deliberately. So much for their supposedly legendary love story! But even as she considered that, she knew she was being unfair. That had been literally eons ago, and they were both different people. Bronwyn Harris grimaced. Yes. Totally different.

They had met again through the ages. . .she remembered some of those lives, though not all of them. And it un-nerved her, how often those other incarnations fell in love again. There was something about that which made her. . .uneasy. Bron didn't believe in destiny. . .unless discussing the consequences of someone's actions. For instance, a momentary decision at the last minute could lead someone to be in the middle of a disaster. . .or miles away from it. That kind of destiny, she could accept. But believing in predestination, or even worse, believing that one person was destined to marry another? That actually creeped her out. More than that, she believed that choosing to believe in destiny meant giving up her own free will. Worse, certain individuals would claim their actions were not their fault, but they were succumbing to their destiny.

That didn't wash with her. Her mother hadn't died because of someone's destiny, she had died because they were a sadistic bastard who got his sexual kicks by torturing and murdering a woman in front of her seven year old daughter. Perhaps something in his background caused the behavior, but it was never his destiny. He had to make the choice. And if it was her destiny to see such a horrific thing at such a young age, if it was her mother's destiny to die that way, then she wanted nothing to do with destiny. That monster chose to end a young woman's life. . .and she, Bronwyn, chose to protect.

She remembered feeling (and being) so damn helpless during the trial. This very bad man had killed her mother, and that equally bad man was trying to make sure that was okay! How could it be okay? Of course, now she knew that the defense attorney was just doing his job, but the little girl had only seen one bad man defending another. It would have been not entirely accurate to say she swore to herself then and there that she wouldn't allow that to happen to another child. She was seven years old, after all. However, the seed was planted that day, which led her to her career as a child's advocate. And that, in turn, led her to Campbell, North Carolina.

This case actually involved a child. . .legally speaking, at least. No, she hadn't been six or seven when she was murdered, but she was a minor, and thus, she was a child. Over the last few weeks, since Bron's arrival in Campbell, she had worked with the police. . . unofficially. Officially, as a lawyer, she could only work with the district attorney. But she made a promise to her client, and if that meant working with the police, she would do it. The fact that Dalton Robeson creeped her out was only a. . .well, she wouldn't say it was the only reason she wanted him put away, but it certainly didn't help.

And just thinking about Robeson creeped her out, so her mind shifted once more. Unfortunately, it shifted right back to the initial cause of her annoyance. . .namely Marine Gunnery Sergeant Gavin Rafferty (retired). Or, as she had known him more than thirty thousand years earlier, Aragorn Elessar. Then, she hadn't been a lawyer at all (or a barrister, as their English cousins called them), but an Elvish Lady, daughter of a lore master. . .Queen Arwen. Bron supposed that like the Lady of old she had been, she was still a healer (after all, Arwen learned a great deal from her father, Lord Elrond), just in a different way. Then, Arwen, under her father's tutelage, healed hurts and sickness of the body. Now, Bron was healing hearts by bringing closure.

At least, people could look at it that way. But Bron wasn't really anything like Arwen. She didn't look like her for one thing, Elven ears aside. Arwen had been an ethereally lovely creature with raven hair and liquid blue eyes. Bron was pretty, she knew. . .but her hair was auburn, rather than raven, and one of her more poetic boyfriends described her eyes as 'whiskey-colored.' Ooookay. Either way, she didn't look like Arwen Undomiel, and she was certainly no queen. Nor did she want to be. She rather liked being just Bronwyn Harris, lawyer.

Maybe that was also true of Gavin Rafferty. Bron frowned, sipping the sweet tea she had ordered. The first time she met the man was about two weeks earlier, shortly after her initial meeting with Captain Anders and Dr. Trask. She left the police station, feeling more than a little pleased with the progress she made. Their conversation lasted more than three hours, and it covered everything from Zarina Andrews to her mother to Dalton Robeson to Campbell to Washington State.

Perhaps that was why she wasn't entirely paying attention as she left the building, that could explain it. Bronwyn was very cautious about her surroundings (no doubt, yet another legacy of her mother's murder). . .normally. But, on this particular day, she had run straight into the chest of Gavin Rafferty. He was good-looking. . .that was the first thing she noticed. His dark hair was cut short. . .not exceedingly short, but it was a respectable length. He had bright blue eyes, and he smiled when he put his hands on her arms, stabilizing her.

She hadn't recognized him as Aragorn's reincarnation during that first meeting, or even during their second. It was only in the last week that she recognized him and it was then that life seemed to start throwing them together. That lack of awareness at first answered a question, which nagged her from the moment, she began remembering her past as Arwen, at the age of twelve (and they wouldn't discuss how traumatizing _that _was). As a teenager, Bronwyn often wondered what would happen if she met any of the people she loved in those lives? Not just Aragorn, but Arwen's father and two brothers? Would she recognize them? Would they recognize her? And in the end, did it really matter? The only person it might matter with was Aragorn, as Arwen's father had sailed for The Undying Lands. Her brothers . . .Bron couldn't remember their fates. However, even then, she was questioning if she was fated to love Aragorn in all his incarnations. (And studiously ignored one of her favorite memories of Aragorn. . .seeing her husband sweep their small son Eldarion into his arms)

The irony, of course, was that if Gavin hadn't been Aragorn's reincarnation, she would have asked him if he would like to have a coffee with her. During her second encounter with him, she had recognized him as Arwen's husband. . .and that destroyed any possibility of a relationship between them. Of course, it didn't help that his marriage had been a disaster, as she learned the hard way. While Gavin hadn't told her the details, what little he did say told her enough. She could appreciate an honest man, especially when he was a retired Marine (there was a reason there were no better friends, and no worse enemies).

Once she got over this uncomfortable sensation whenever she was around him, they could become friends. He seemed like a gentleman and someone who could be trusted. That was all she wanted. Gavin had no desire to marry again, and Bron wanted a commitment when she herself was ready to commit. Unfortunately, her biological clock was starting to tick quite loudly. She wanted a husband and children, yes. . .had always wanted children eventually. But she wasn't interested in becoming Arwen once more. And she certainly wasn't interested in reenacting Aragorn and Arwen's love story, thirty millennia later. . .

Was she?

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It would have been an understatement of epic proportions to say he took the long way around. . .but through all the years he had lived in North Carolina, he had little opportunity to drive around most of Raleigh, much less Wake County, much less the rest of the state. For the first few days, he drove around Raleigh, seeing the State Capitol grounds and the neighboring North Carolina Museum of History, then shifted his attention to the southern outskirts and the North Carolina Museum of Art. He had lived here almost half of his life, and this was the first time he had seen many of these places. Ronan Daly wondered what else he missed while he was working.

Probably best not to ask. Instead, he focused on the future. Pelagia hadn't told him to 'get thee to Campbell,' so he took his time and enjoyed himself. One could spend the entire day at both the Museum of History and the Museum of Art. And so, he had kept one day for each. Actually, the truth was, one could spend an entire week at both museums and still not see everything. But that was usually the case in museums. He debated briefly about going to the Zoo, but decided against it. In the first place, it was too bloody cold, and in the second, his joints weren't up to the walking. Maybe he would attempt it in the warmer months. One thing Ronan learned rather quickly when he arrived in North Carolina. . .this was the South, but it could get damn cold in the winter.

He left the capital city on the morning of the third day and headed south. Ronan had never seen Fayetteville (or really, any city south of Raleigh), except on occasional newscasts that primarily dealt with Fort Bragg and Pope Air Force Base. The girls often drove into Fayetteville for FireAntz games (the FireAntz, he learned, were a semi-professional hockey team), and occasionally accompanied Megan and Kristin's cousin Gavin, a retired Marine, onto Fort Bragg and Pope. The twin bases were closer than Camp Lejeune, the Marine post, according to Megan.

Ronan smiled a little, remembering how her eyes lit up when she told him about the static display. . .old airplanes, some from the Second World War, some from Korea, some from Vietnam. The planes had been hollowed out and placed on cement supports. The light in her eyes dimmed a bit when she added that the static displays would be coming down, with the changes wrought by the base realignments, or BRAC. She understood the necessity, of course. Megan was sometimes brutally practical, he had noticed. But she mourned the loss of that history. The young cop hadn't mentioned exactly what would happen to the planes, but he hoped they weren't destroyed.

He found Fayetteville as charming as the girls described. Hay Street, in particular, became a favorite of his over the next few days, visiting the Transportation Museum one afternoon and the Airborne Museum the following afternoon. Like the Museums of Art and History in Raleigh, these visits easily took a day a piece. . .the Airborne Museum in particular. He made a note to visit the Fayetteville Museum of Art sometime in the future, then headed north through Fort Bragg. He was able to see very little of the base itself, protected as it was by a concertina wire and trees. However, he did know from conversations with various military personnel that bases were small, self-sufficient cities. If he had the chance to meet Gavin Rafferty, he would be interested in hearing more.

Over the next week, he spent a great deal of gasoline and almost as much money, simply driving around the area, discovering towns like Aberdeen, Southern Pines, Pinehurst, Carthage, all in Moore County, which was known for its golf courses. In fact, he learned, in the summer of 2005, the US Open had been held in Southern Pines. He didn't follow golf (he actually preferred hockey, as it reminded him of football. Irish and English football, not the American variety), so he hadn't known about that. He was coming to learn there was a great deal about his adopted state which he didn't know. Oh, there were the usual facts, such as the current population and the general history of the state. But he hadn't known about the golf courses, or about the pottery shops around the area.

There were also blacksmith shops, though somewhat further north and to the east. Still, it was mind-blowing that such arts still existed in the early years of the twenty-first century. Even more mind-blowing was that many of these smiths had a website. Talk about combining eighteenth century workmanship with twenty-first century sensibility. . .that was a prime example! It was truly wondrous to him, a man who remembered his memories from thirty millennia ago, how these resourceful people could find a way to blend the past and the present. He doubted if it wasn't effortless. . .but it was successful.

Nearly two weeks after he left Raleigh, Ronan saw the welcome sign for Campbell, North Carolina. But rather than making contact with Megan (and he did have her cell phone number. . .the sweet girl had insisted on giving it to him before she left) or the other girls, Ronan chose to make himself familiar with Campbell. It was, as he had been told, a small city. . .no more than ten thousand people. Although, Kristin had told him, rolling her eyes a little, that was subject to change. Quite frequently, too. With the base realignment, more and more military families were settling not just on the bases and in Fayetteville, but Sanford (which was due north of Fayetteville) and Campbell, as well.

He could tell, too, in the construction he noticed around town. Restaurants, drug stores, even hotels. The girls hadn't told him about that, but he hadn't seen them for several days. And they had been in Raleigh for almost two weeks. They might not have known, or it might not have occurred to them to tell him. In addition to the construction he noticed, there was also the usual bustle that came in the weeks leading up to Christmas. He stayed away from the stores and shops as much as possible, choosing instead to learn what he could about the town from the owners and patrons of local diners. He quickly grew fond of Lady J's, a hot dog/hamburger joint which was owned and operated by one Janithy Talbot, who reminded him a bit of that USA commercial, 'characters welcome.'

She was also a veritable gold mine of information, of things he did (and didn't) want to know. From Janithy, he learned about the town. The mayor's name was Thomas Farrell, a former police detective and, in Janithy's words, 'a handsome devil.' There was also the city council. While Janithy was obviously fond of Mayor Farrell, the same wasn't true of the council. She had friends who informed her that the morons had wanted to blame the police for the death of a young local girl, Bethany (if Ronan's memory served, it was the murder of that poor girl which caused such scars for Megan and Elena). Her eyes had blazed with a righteous fury when she told him about that.

They weren't bad people, Janithy told him, most of 'em were actually pretty decent. But as ever in any organization, there were idiots and people who let their emotions do their thinking. It may have been okay to follow your heart as an individual, Janithy observed, but it wasn't such a smart thing when you were responsible for other people. She went on to tell him about Lydia Anders, the police captain. A divorced mother of one daughter, she moved to North Carolina from New Jersey. For her own part, Janithy was a transplant, moving up from the Wilmington area about twenty-five years earlier. 'Round the same time Ronan came to North Carolina.

He learned that she opened Lady J's about fifteen years earlier, and served all kinds of people here. . .government officials, cops, factory workers. And running Lady J's, she learned all sorts of things. People weren't always circumspect while they were eating lunch or dinner. That made sense. Ronan knew from listening to his mother, who had been a maid, that people did that around individuals who served, period. What made his mother (and Janithy) successful was, they kept what they heard to themselves.

It was from Janithy that he learned about the upcoming Christmas Festival. A few jackasses had tried to change it to the Winter Festival a few years back, but that idea got shot down real quick. Janithy had grinned quite gleefully at that, which made Ronan think she was a driving force behind the downing of that suggestion. In any event, it was held every year at the community center. It was a good place to meet the people of the town and get to know them. Ronan promised he would think about it, and Janithy provided him with directions.

The community center turned out to be an abandoned warehouse in the center of town which was cleaned up about twenty years earlier. Attending this town's Christmas celebration would help to ease his mind, knowing who would be helping to take care of Boromir. He wondered if the girls would be there. . .he hoped they would be. He'd like to see Elena, Kristin and Megan in a social setting, rather than a professional one. It would be nice to wish them a Merry Christmas in person.

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As a child, Christmas had truly been the most wonderful time of the year for her. She loved the way Campbell (and her own home) was decorated. She loved listening to the Christmas carolers as they came to the house, and the magic of Santa Claus bringing her what she only told her mother or father about. But as the years passed and she became adult, she learned painfully that there were times when the phrase, 'Bah, humbug,' not only seemed to work, but was actually rather appropriate. This week was quickly turning into one of those times.

To say that Megan Rafferty was becoming grumpy as Christmas approached would have been something of an understatement. In the last several days, ever since she, Kristin, and Elena returned from Raleigh with Michael, Megan's normally unlimited patience had been taking a beating. Not from her new roommate, who constantly pushed himself to regain his strength, and not from her cousin, who practically moved into her apartment to help with Michael. Not even from her more annoying brothers and sisters in the department. No, the person most likely to drive Megan insane before the holiday actually arrived was her very own, dearly-loved mother.

And it all centered on one issue. Hence her grouchy attitude toward Christmas. The annual Christmas Festival at the community center was at the end of the week, and her mother was quite insistent that Megan should attend with Michael. It was a Rafferty family tradition, started the year Francis and Ailsa brought Kristin home from Korea. Usually, Megan was fine with that. . .if she had time off, she even helped to decorate the center. However, this year, Megan wasn't so sure just how involved she would be with the party, and made no secret of her hesitation. . .largely because of her guest.

While Michael was a grown man (quite obviously), Megan was responsible for him and she wasn't sure if he was strong enough to deal with the crowd. She wasn't even sure if _she _was strong enough to deal with the crowd, and she wasn't recovering from life-threatening injuries. She loved this town and she loved the people here, but she knew how curious they could be. . .especially under these circumstances.

She and Elena went to Raleigh, just the two of them in one car with Nico, and they came back with a badly injured amnesiac and two cars. Add to that the holiday insanity that happened every Christmas (such as the one she just escaped at Wal-Mart. . .what was _with_ those people?), and Megan was inclined to say, 'bah, humbug' to the whole thing. However, she kept such sentiments to herself (and occasionally Kristin), because it was, after all, Christmas, and 'the most wonderful time of the year.' And if you weren't happy during the most wonderful time of the year, clearly, you were one of those depressed people who thought about or actually did try to kill themselves during the holiday season. That, in turn, resulted in more attention. . .and that was the last thing Megan wanted. Just to make herself feel better, she muttered under her breath, "Bah, humbug."

Michael looked up from watching television when she spoke and frowned at her thoughtfully. Even if he didn't recognize the words, he was clearly no idiot and recognized the tone of voice. She had thought she'd spoken the words too softly for anyone else to hear, but apparently not. Dammit. She really needed to work on that. Michael was already becoming protective of her, and he needed to concentrate on his own recovery. . .not worry about his grumpy current guardian. Megan offered him a reassuring smile, and his confusion turned to concern. Obviously sensing something was amiss and unable to understand exactly what, he chose the fight he could win and nodded to the screen, saying, "Crockett."

That _did_ make Megan smile (which, in turn, made him smile). . .Gavin had been a huge fan of _Miami Vice_ when they were teenagers, and had been thrilled to find it on cable in re-runs. Much to her mother's chagrin, her father's amusement, and Kristin's shock, her cousin started using the glitzy tv show to teach Michael English. Elena just shook her head and muttered he should be using _Knight Rider_ instead (not that this was a surprise, considering the number of David Hasselhoff posters that decorated Elena's room when they were teenagers). Gavin countered that he did that as well, along with a few other more traditional educational shows.

Looking back, Megan wasn't sure which part of that conversation was more interesting, Gavin's simple explanation or Elena's obvious grouchiness. Though they both had grown and changed over the years, her best friend still had a serious soft spot for David Hasselhoff, and probably always would. Gavin went on to inform them that they also watched _Transformers_ and _GI Joe. _Megan could see _Transformers_ especially. . .even if Michael wasn't a thirty foot robot who turned into something else. It was the entire idea. Transformers were new to this world, and Michael was. . .well, he often seemed to be not of this time. While it was certainly not Megan's first choice, teaching their new friend English using television shows, she couldn't deny that it worked. Michael's English was steadily improving.

Even if he _had_ 'asked' Elena and herself earlier in the week if they were Crockett. It took the two detectives a few minutes to realize he meant they were in the same profession. They assured him this was the case, and then glared at Gavin until he actually blushed. After that, her cousin took great pains to teach Michael the word 'cop.' They would wait to teach him 'police officer' and 'detective.' There was only so much he could handle at one time, and for Megan's money, he was doing very well, indeed.

For now, she smiled gently at him and agreed, "Crockett." He beamed back at her, looking very pleased with himself. Megan wasn't certain if he was pleased with himself for identifying the character, rather than the profession, or for making her smile. It could go either way with Michael. He seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure in making Megan, Kristin, and Elena smile. If he managed all three at once, that was even better, it seemed. In that respect, he seemed almost child-like.

Over the last few days, as he grew stronger, more of his personality began to shine through. With each passing day, he needed less sleep and hurt a little less. And for the most part, Gavin bowed to her wishes with regards to the food Michael ate. There was one time, a few days earlier, when he gave their new friend pizza when she wasn't sure he was ready for it. . .and he had to deal with the consequences (which included cleaning up her bathroom after her toilet flooded). Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who had to bear the consequences. . .so did Megan (who had to smell the mess for the next several hours) and so did Michael.

To her relief (and slight suspicion), Gavin meekly submitted to Megan's ire after she comforted the now-resting Michael. He also said something very strange, along the lines of forgetting that Michael's system wasn't used to pizza. That was filed under the ever-growing file of 'strange Gavin behavior,' along with his habit of talking softly to Michael until she entered the room. That mental file was growing larger and larger every day. And sooner or later, she _would_ be finding out what was going on with that. She wouldn't call Gavin on it right now, because knowing him as well as she did, he would probably clam up, and she'd never find out. No. No, for now, she would pretend not to notice.

Returning her focus to Michael's health, Megan acknowledged that yes, he was getting better on a daily basis, but was he strong enough to handle the crowd, the inevitable curiosity? Was he strong enough to handle the likes of Dorcas Merriweather? Most completely-healthy people really weren't equipped to deal with Dorcas Merriweather on a regular basis for more than an hour or two. Three at the most, and that was if someone was in a very, very good mood.

Megan made a face at the thought of that woman. She was raised to behave in a ladylike manner (for the most part), but she had no use for Mrs. Merriweather. For all her charitable work, and despite her claims of being a good woman, Megan didn't believe that someone who spread lies and gossip about people because of this imagined slight or that snub was any more likely to get into heaven than Megan herself was. And given the nature of her work, of the things she found it necessary to do in the line of duty, Megan had her doubts about her own self getting into heaven.

She didn't know for sure, but it seemed to Megan that Mrs. Merriweather did her charitable work more as a way of saying, 'see how good I am' than actually because she cared about her 'causes.' While Megan acknowledged that it really shouldn't matter, so long as people got the help they needed, there was something about the attitude that set her teeth on edge. Besides. While Megan was quite aware of how Mrs. Merriweather and her merry band of biddies saw her assistance of Michael, she didn't care what they said about her. When they attacked her family, that was another story entirely. No one insulted her family and got away with it. No one.

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Meg was worried about something. Even as she returned her attention to the book she bought that afternoon while out shopping (though he had never seen her quite so exhausted or out of sorts when she returned from her shopping trips), Mikal kept an eye on his new friend. She was worried, no matter how much she tried to reassure him. Mikal had a sense that it was the upcoming Winter Festival that concerned her so much. Gavin mentioned something to him about it while they watched teevee (speaking that unknown language they both understood), though he called it something else the first time. Most likely the proper name, then. He would ask about it later. Gavin also mentioned that it was causing some awkwardness between Meg and her mother. Again, that was not the word his new friend used.

However, it was close enough. He frowned, briefly distracted by his trouble communicating. While Mikal could speak individual words, they had not yet attempted sentence structure in the new language of English. In the last several days, he added many new words to the ones he already knew. Not enough to make him understood, but he was making progress, and he knew Gavin was pleased. One thing Mikal had learned during the last several days however, even with this language they both spoke, there were some things Gavin could not explain to him.

So, since Ronan was not here to answer his questions and to supplement his new knowledge, Mikal fell back on his old method of learning: observation. Since he couldn't ask Meg if she was all right, he began observing her expressions. He knew when she bit her lower lip, and her brows were drawn in a thoughtful expression, she was concentrating. . .and if he wanted her attention, he would have to call her name more than once. He also noted that when her eyes were very dark, she was angry. Even if she was smiling, if her eyes were that dark, it was wise to stay out of her way. Mikal may not have lived with Meg for a long period of time, but even he knew that he did not wish to have a guardian angry with him. That would be sheer foolishness. Meg was small, indeed, but that made her no less dangerous.

He also learned that there were things he could do to help her. The day before, after she returned home, he assisted her when she covered items with brightly colored paper. Admittedly, he was exhausted when they were finished (and he only held the packages still), but it was something she did not have to do. Her smile when he awkwardly indicated his desire to assist was enough to make him smile. She showed him where to place his hands on the paper, to make sure his fingers were not attached to the box, then smoothed her own hands over the box to signal they were done with that particular gift.

He knew very little about the gifts she bought, though he did recognize books and the occasional ceedee. He also recognized them when she put them in to play. They listened to ceedees while they worked. Mikal didn't understand any of the words, but he liked the harmony. He liked listening to Meg's music, whether they were here or in that strange wagon she drove. They only went out once (much to his relief and dismay. . .relief because he was exhausted by the time they returned to the building, and dismay because he was so terribly exhausted. He should not be so blasted exhausted while riding in that odd wagon. . .he wasn't doing anything, after all!

There were other things that he either didn't like or didn't appreciate. On one hand, while he very much liked the taste of peetza, he was not at all fond of the way it made him feel. He had been very ill after he had eaten it, and his gut had ached for several days afterward. For reasons he couldn't name, he kept telling Meg that he was sorry after it happened. Perhaps because she was taking care of him, when she should have been eating herself. . .perhaps because she looked so very worried about him. Either way, it would be some time before he ate peetza again.

That little experience also taught him that he would much rather eat bland food that had no taste whatsoever than go through what he did with peetza a second time. Before the peetza incident, he had started chafing at the food Meg gave him. Not again. She proved beyond any question that she knew what she was doing. He would question her no further, not while he was still recovering. There were too many circles under her dark eyes, and he would not contribute to worrying her further. He didn't like the way he felt after he ate peetza, and he didn't like worrying Megan.

Returning his attention to the things he did like. . . Mikal also enjoyed listening to Meg sing. She did that on occasion, singing along lustily with songs. He didn't understand a word she was saying, and Gavin blushed when he asked him. Perhaps it was best not to know, though none of them sounded like tavern songs. Certainly no drinking songs he ever heard sounded like that. He had no idea how he knew that. . .he just did. And slowly, he was coming to accept that. There were still flashes of that mysterious white city and people whom his heart recognized even if his mind didn't, but. . .that white city was growing less and less real. The flashes of people's faces were growing less clear, less real. What was real to him was the dark-haired young woman sitting across from him, legs tucked neatly under her body as she read. What was real was Gavin, Ronan, Layna, and Kristin.

What was real were Meg and Kristin's parents, Nico, and Nico's owner, Mistress Johanna. He saw Kristin nearly every day. . .when Gavin wasn't there, Kristin was. She looked after him while Meg was at work. When Kristin was here, she taught him words in English, just as Gavin did. But where Gavin taught him using their language and the teevee, she began teaching him something called the 'al-fa-bit.' It took him just a few minutes to realize she was teaching him letters. That actually took less time, but he was still learning what the words meant. She would sometimes read to him, as she did before. It didn't matter that he didn't understand a word she was saying. He just liked hearing her voice. And, of course, they watched teevee.

Where Gavin liked Croket and Tubs, and Mikal and Kit, however, Kristin liked rather strange things. It seemed to be about women talking, most of the time. When the women weren't talking, they were often shown in bed with men. (Usually) Mikal had no idea what the plays were about, or why Kristin liked them. It made him wish he could genuinely read in English, so he had something to do other than watch the teevee or sleep. He loved spending time with Kristin, just as he loved spending time with Meg and with Gavin. . .he just didn't think much of the things she watched. He saw no point in the plays she watched on the teevee.

There were also times when Layna came over. She didn't stay as long, and while she was there, Mikal often found himself sleeping. He could watch whatever he wished, but the soft conversations between the two boon companions often lulled him to sleep. They made him feel safe, he realized. When they talked, he felt as if he was a child again, listening to his parents talk. Did something like that ever happen? He didn't remember. But for him to know about it, he had to have experienced it. . .wasn't that correct?

However, he tried to avoid thinking about that too much, as it caused too much pain. It reminded him of everything he couldn't remember, and everything he must have lost. And he must have lost something, more than just his memory? Had he not had parents, perhaps even a brother? That. . .seemed right. A brother. A younger brother. What had become of him? What had become of his parents, of the people not here? Following those thoughts could only lead to madness. . .tears, at best. His abdomen still ached terribly, though more than a fortnight had passed since his arrival at Meg's home.

The pain wasn't as intense as it had been, but he still tired quickly and still hurt. He had only to remember their only outing so far (aside from eating with her mother and father), to comprehend that. He'd been so tired by the time they returned home from that incredibly crowded marketplace, he'd slept for the rest of the day, rousing just long enough to eat dinner, then slept until midmorning the following day. Not an experience he cared to repeat. He would recover, but it would take time to heal. He would heal and find a way to repay Meg for her kindness and compassion to him. He would find a purpose, even if he never remembered his true name. And he would be grateful for his life, for something inside told him that he was fortunate indeed to be alive.


	11. A Very Bad Day

Author's notes: I am SO sorry it's taken so long to get this new chapter out to you! I've had a monstrous case of writer's block for the last several months, thanks to several factors, including family trouble and as ever, work trouble. I've actually got the next chapter started, which involves the much-mentioned Christmas festival, and the first official meeting between Gavin and Ronan is a large part of that chapter. One final note before we get to the chapter itself. . . the incident which takes place in this chapter is based on something that actually happened here in North Carolina almost three months ago. There was an explosion at a ConAgra plant in Garner, NC. . .it's the company that makes the SlimJim sausages. Three people were died and more were injured. The plant was recently re-opened and the employees have gone back to work.

Chapter Ten

A Very Bad Day

That girl was a _demon_. Oh, she looked so sweet and innocent, but as he learned the hard way, she was anything but. On the other hand, he only had himself to blame, since he was the one who helped to teach her how to use her innocent appearance. He just never expected it to be turned against him. That was, most likely, his first mistake. On the other hand, he couldn't deny that she had warned him. He wasn't entirely sure why he ignored her, especially when he knew she was right. He had no business giving Boromir pizza, especially not after the injuries he sustained at Amon Hen.

It was just. . .Gavin wanted to share this new delight with his old friend. And Boromir liked the pizza very much. Unfortunately, as Meg warned him, his system simply wasn't ready for it. So Gavin didn't argue much when Meg made him clean up her bathroom after her toilet overflowed. The way he figured it, he had no right to complain at all. Still, she would think something was wrong with him if he didn't say _something_. Not too much, or she wouldn't trust him with Boromir while she was at work, as she was today.

As it was, Megan was already suspicious of his conversations with Boromir. Of course she was; she was a police detective and a pretty good one, if he did say so himself. She noticed the conversations that they held in Sindarin and in Westron (Westron, he realized, was easier to make the transition to English). She also noticed his reaction to Boromir at the airport. He had to be careful not to make her more suspicious. He wasn't entirely sure what she would do. . . and he would really just as soon keep it that way. He had enough of a headache right now with his ex-wife. He didn't need further trouble. And speaking of strange things happening in Campbell (his ex-wife definitely counted). . .

He encountered a particular red-haired woman a number of times in town over the last few weeks, the previous day being the most recent. She had introduced herself as 'Bronwyn Harris,' a child's legal advocate who was helping in the case against Dalton Robeson. She seemed. . .familiar to Gavin, though he couldn't place her. It almost felt like someone he had met before, during his previous lives. The trouble was. . .he wasn't sure who, exactly. He was certainly attracted to her (um, hello. . .gorgeous red-head with long legs!), but it could be Arwen or Eowyn. And that was just from Aragorn's life, that wasn't counting from his lives as people like Richard Dennison.

On that note, wasn't that just a _little _weird? Not only was he here in Campbell, and Boromir was here as well. . .but other reincarnations lived in this town through the last century in particular. His own previous incarnation was the grandfather of the town's mayor. There was a reason Gavin focused on being Gavin, rather than his prior identities. . .a very, very good reason. Trying to think about his prior identities (and the family members of those individuals) was enough to give him a headache. . .a rather nasty one at that.

He wondered, on more than one occasion, about the others among the Nine Walkers. As the reincarnation of not just Aragorn, but of Richard Dennison as well, he remembered encountering Legolas on the fields of Europe during what was known at that time as the Great War. Thanks to his memories from Richard Dennison, Gavin couldn't listen to _The Green Fields of France _without tearing up. He had been there, on those green fields of France, and Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany. He remembered it, in all its horrors, and even now, Gavin wasn't sure what was more horrifying. . .those memories of the Great War or what he had seen as a Marine in this life. More to the point, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to that.

No. Not really. So he returned his attention to the question of the other Walkers. He was reasonably sure that Brendan Farrell, the mayor's son, was the reincarnation of Frodo Baggins. He looked startlingly like the hobbit in question, like the Ringbearer. And on the subject of that family, there was something unnervingly familiar about the boy's father, Tom. Unnerving, because he saw him both as Mayor Tom Farrell, who had been Gavin's friend since he arrived in town. But there was more to him than that, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Legolas, of course, had been alive during the time of the First World War. While Gavin knew all too well that Elves could die (immortal did not equal 'cannot die,' after all), he believed it was a good bet that Legolas lived even now. His memories told him that Aragorn's Elven friend mentioned he would eventually return to Valinor, perhaps after the reincarnation of Gimli died. He would spend some time in the Undying Lands, before being drawn back out into the world of men. Richard Dennison asked him what drew him out into the world of men, and Legolas shrugged, answering that sometimes it was because of restlessness. . .and sometimes, it was because he felt he was needed by his mortal friends. Which meant, he probably returned as World War II loomed.

As was common when he started thinking about Legolas and Arwen, Gavin wondered about the other Elves: about Haldir, Lady Galadriel, Celeborn, the twins. . .Lord Elrond. Legolas never told him much about Valinor. . .in part because Richard Dennison really wasn't interested in hearing about it. They were the middle of a godawful war, and the last thing Richard wanted to hear about was the Undying Lands. Looking back now, Gavin wondered about that. Surrounded as they were by death, did he not wish to hear about it because of the terrible contrast to what their lives were currently like, or because he knew he would never see Valinor? Gavin didn't know. And, it wasn't really important. He glanced out of the kitchen and smiled to see Boromir enthralled with the TV. No. The past was past. He had the present, and that was far more important.

Keeping that in mind, Gavin left the kitchen with the sandwiches he had been preparing for Boromir's lunch. He settled next to the blond man on the sofa, who was watching a football game. Gavin had no idea how much Boromir understood, but he found he didn't care as the other man accepted his plate with a smile and a quiet, 'Thank you' in English. They were making progress.

BBBBBBBB

On a scale of one to ten, that was a minus five in terms of being enjoyable. In terms of being a _really _bad idea, it was a fifteen. Over the last two weeks, as their eldest daughter began the curious balance of being 'mother' and a cop, Francis and Ailsa Rafferty did their best to support her, inviting her and Michael for dinner once Michael could eat more solid food and had the strength to leave his bed for any length of time. And during those two weeks, Ailsa had increased the pressure on Megan to bring Michael to the annual Christmas festival.

The trouble was, while Megan was a quiet, easygoing young woman for the most part, she had her limits. The more she was pushed, the more she dug in her heels and refused to be moved. While she was a teenager, the tug of war between his wife and their daughter amused Francis. . .especially since his wife complained about how stubborn the girl was. However, he wasn't amused this time. . .because he was seeing where this tug of war could lead. He wasn't willing to lose his daughter over this, and that meant he had to take control of the situation.

"You know, you really should stop pestering the girl. Keep it up and she'll stop speaking to you entirely," he warned as they pulled into their driveway. His wife didn't respond, her features set in familiar mulish lines, and Francis sighed, shaking his head in resignation. However, remembering his daughter's strained expression when he and Ailsa surprised her at the station for lunch (as well as the expression on Elena's face), he went on, "Maybe that's what you want. . .for Megan to shut us out entirely and become uncomfortable whenever she's around us."

"Of course it isn't what I want! I want Megan to be happy!" Ailsa fired back as she fumbled for the house keys in her purse. Francis sighed again, turned off the engine, then picked up his own house keys out of the cup holder. Maybe he should have waited until this evening to bring up the subject, but the longer he waited, the worse it would get. And he had warned his wife that surprising their daughter at work wasn't the best idea. Ailsa added, sounding more than a little petulant, "Besides, Megan is thirty-two years old and more than capable of telling us to leave her alone." Francis couldn't help raising an eyebrow at that. Oh, really? He stared at his wife, who had the grace to flush.

"Are you serious? Are we talking about the same girl here? Our generous, loving, dutiful daughter, who has spent the entirety of her life taking care of other people? That Megan? As Gavin would say, 'yeah, right!' Oh, she's gotten better about standing up for herself since she became friends with Elena, but where family is concerned, she's still torn between doing what's best for her and pleasing us. She's been raised to be a good daughter, to be respectful, and telling the two of us to take a hike and leave her alone just ain't gonna happen. So she'll do it with more subtlety, because she has to have some breathing room. . .by telling us she can't make dinner for weeks on end, because she has to work or because Michael is sick. She _will_ shut us out, Ailsa! Oh, she'll still speak to us and email us, maybe even help out around the house when she's here, but she will shut us out," Francis retorted.

His wife started to speak, but Francis wasn't finished. He went on, "She'll marry or maybe even adopt a child, if she can't find the right man. We'll get to see our grandchild once a month or so, because you can't stop lecturing her about how to be a good mother. We'll get to see our grandchild less and less, because you can't trust Megan to do right by a forty year old man, much less a small child. Is that what you want, Ailsa? Because if you continue to pester Megan about this damn Christmas festival, that's exactly what will happen. She lives with that young man, and I think she has a better idea of what he's capable of handling than you do."

"If she does adopt a child while she's single, I hope she finds another line of work," his wife muttered. Francis shot her a glare. They already knew she meant to do just that. Megan had told them in the past that if she was a single mother, she would either leave the force and find some other way to protect and serve the people of Campbell, or she would take an administrative position. Ailsa sighed at last, telling him, "This young man lives with her, Francis. . .he's recovering from life-threatening injuries, and Meg has been dividing her time between taking care of him and working."

Yes, and? Ailsa went on, "And certain troublesome old biddies have started talking about our daughter as if she's some kind of whore. They're saying because she doesn't socialize with the rest of the town, she has something to hide. . .and they mean her relationship with Michael." Francis almost lost his jaw at that comment. Wha.. .what the hell? He stared at his wife in almost obvious consternation. Had the entire town gone insane, or was he the insane one?

"Meg has never been one to socialize, Ailsa! She's a cop, she has a town to protect! And let me guess, that harridan Dorcas Meriweather is leading the pack? She would, that woman has a poisonous tongue! Aili, stop and think about it. Michael is recovering from life-threatening injuries, just like you said. Life. . .threatening. . .injuries. And you want our daughter to take him into a situation where he's going to have to deal with that pack of she-wolves? He doesn't understand much English, he tires quickly, he's uncomfortable with a large group of people, and you want Meg to take him out like a lamb to slaughter?" Francis asked.

His wife fell silent, and Francis recognized the silence. She was starting to see things from his perspective, but she wasn't quite ready to give up. So Francis took the lead once more, saying quietly, "This was supposed to be a nice lunch with the four of us. Kristin had something she wanted Megan's opinion about, but we spent the entire time trying to change the subject away from that damn Festival. Meg was uncomfortable. Kristin was uncomfortable. Hell, _I_ was uncomfortable. I appreciate that you're trying to protect Megan, but. . .not like this."

Ailsa said nothing for a long time. At last, she answered in a low voice, "Dorcas Meriweather harps constantly on how much she does for the community, for people in general. At the same time, she's tearing other people down or trying to turn people against her targets. Our Megan is twice the woman that old biddy is, and I won't waste a 'bless her heart' on the likes of Dorcas Meriweather. Twice the woman she is, and half her age. I will not allow her, or any of her sycophants, to denigrate my little girl."

Francis wasn't quite sure what to say to that. People had been known to dismiss all three of his ladies for one reason or another. . .Kristin because she was young and pretty, Megan because she was quiet, his wife because she seemed flighty. Ailsa could be flighty, she could be flaky. . .but she was also venomously protective of her daughters. Sayre sometimes observed that Ailsa could be far more dangerous than Megan. Her granddaughter was a cop, trained to use lethal force if it was necessary. . .but Sayre's daughter was perceived as flighty, and no one expected Ailsa to react powerfully if someone threatened or attacked either of her little girls.

This fact alone proved what a fool Dorcas Meriweather was. She had obviously forgotten the last time she tangled with Ailsa over the girls. Francis thought she was an idiot anyhow, especially since she had four children of her own. Did she really think Ailsa would be any less protective of her own two? Did she think that just because one of the Rafferty daughters was adopted, either was any less precious? Or was she simply too selfish, too self-centered, to think past herself?

Either way, she was her husband's problem, not his. Ailsa finally said quietly, "But you're right. . .I know you're right. I. . .I'll give Meg a few hours to calm down. She always gets so upset after I've pushed her too hard. I'll call her around dinnertime and suggest a compromise. I'll back off if she considers getting a doctor's opinion on what to do about Michael. Maybe they could come for a half hour or so, if he's feeling strong enough." Francis smiled at his wife, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"I think that's an excellent idea. Besides, if Gavin comes with them, I don't think even Dorcas Meriweather would think of bothering them," he observed. Ailsa frowned, not understanding immediately. . .and then she smiled. A very evil smile, at that. The woman was known to appreciate handsome young men. . .look at the way she fawned over poor Jason Wellington whenever she was around him! He added after a moment, remembering something he heard from Elena's younger brother, "In fact, we may want to involve Lucius Wellington. He defended Megan quite hotly against the insinuations of her little group." All right, it was just the old biddy herself, but still.

Lucius Wellington wasn't known to get involved with anyone or anything that didn't deal immediately with his dog sanctuary or his family. Sayre said on more than one occasion that he reminded her in certain ways of her late husband. She didn't specify which ways. . .however, given that Dr. Wellington was in his eighties, it seemed likely that he was a World War II veteran. Because of that, the Englishman was left in peace by the Rafferty family. . .of course, by the time he moved to Campbell, six and a half years earlier, Kristin was no longer selling Girl Scout cookies as a general rule. However, if it had been necessary, Sayre would have called him, rather than send Kristin to his home.

Interesting. A man who wished only to be left alone, who usually accepted the aid of that pack of she-wolves without a word. . .had defended his daughter fiercely for taking in Michael. In fact, according to Felipe Gutierrez (who in turn had heard it from Jason Wellington), when Mrs. Meriweather threatened to remove her support from the dog sanctuary because of Dr. Wellington's 'rudeness,' he fired back that he would find assistance from someone else. . . someone who assisted others because they cared, not because it made them look good. Interesting, and something that bore further investigation. For now, however, he and his wife walked into the house, hand in hand.

BBBBBBBB

Well, that had not been one of her better lunches. When her mother called to invite her to lunch. . .the plan was to surprise Megan at work. . .she eagerly agreed. She hadn't seen her sister in almost a week, as Meg was trying to catch up at work, and she really needed her big sister's input. Unfortunately, as they got closer to Christmas, things didn't work out the way Kristin hoped. . .her mother used the lunch to once more try to nag Megan into taking Michael to the annual Christmas Festival. So, naturally, since that was more important than anything else, Kristin didn't get a chance to talk to Megan, the way she wanted. The girl sighed, rubbing her eyes as she returned to the medical center where she worked as a volunteer on her breaks from college.

Things had been going fine, until a few days earlier. She arrived at the medical center at nine in the morning, after the early morning rush hour was over, to see what kind of help they needed. . .and then, she had seen him. Her world seemed to white out, and when she could see clearly again, there he was. Of course. The chances were, he was here in a professional capacity. Kristin wanted to cry. She had been home almost two weeks and managed to avoid him. . .until that moment. The college student could go for months without seeing him, without thinking about him. . .but once she returned home and ran into him, saw him again. . .he was all she could think about for days. And she hated that. She wanted to hate him, really, but the truth was, where he was involved, she actually hated herself.

She had been twelve years old, when she first met him. . .twelve when she met him, twelve when she first started developing what became a massive crush. Well, there was something, at least. . .at least she wasn't twelve years old any more. Kristin snorted at that small saving grace. He had just gotten out of the military after serving for four years and was going through the police academy. The plan, according to the scuttlebutt around town, was that he would join the Campbell Police Department afterward. . .that turned out to be true. The bad news was, he knew her older sister. . .according to Elena, the three of them were classmates before they were in the department together. The good news was, they weren't that close. Not like Elena, or Rafe Santucci. That could have made things even more awkward. As it was, she often saw him at picnics and other community events.

He wasn't, strictly speaking, gorgeous. He wasn't Ioan Gruffudd or Kyle Schmid or Heath Ledger. . .but he was nice-looking, and even more importantly, he was _nice_. A genuinely nice, stable. . .gentleman. This continued over the next few years, with Kristin finding ways to disguise her infatuation (she knew that was all it was, and all it could ever be). . .and then, he got married, breaking Kristin's heart. For all her fine words, for all her protestations to Megan (and Elena) that she knew her feelings for him were nothing more than a silly little girl's crush. . .there had been a part of her which hoped against hope she would grow into the kind of woman he wanted. Whatever that was.

She was sixteen at the time, and in her devastation (as well as mortification), Kristin had thrown herself whole-heartedly into her schoolwork and volunteering. Of course, while it may have fooled some people, it hadn't fooled her older sister, and there were many times when she felt Megan's compassionate, sad eyes on her. But she wouldn't talk about how stupid she had been and how stupid she still felt, choosing instead to redirect her energy into something productive. . .for someone else, if not her. And for a time, that worked. . .she realized she was happiest when she was at the medical center. But it only worked for a time. . .until Madelyn Garvey, wife of Officer Logan Garvey, came to work at the medical center as the receptionist. If there was anything worse than fighting an infatuation with a married man, it was fighting the aforementioned attraction and realizing that you liked his wife. One would think that would make it easier, but one wouldn't be taking the crushing guilt into account, either.

Going away to school had helped. . .out of sight, out of mind. But every time she came home, she only had to see him once, and everything got thrown out of whack. Kristin had really wanted to talk to Meg, since her older sister had a crush on Tom Farrell for so many years. . .wanted to see how the older girl handled it. But, surprise surprise, it hadn't worked out that way. Kristin wanted to be angry with her mother, wanted to resent her for using the thirty minutes they just spent with Megan to try to convince her sister into taking Michael to the Festival, but there was just no sense in resenting a person for being what they were.

So, here she was. . .back at the medical center. At least she had eaten. She would call Megan this evening, when she got home. As she walked into the med center, she came face to face with a very welcome surprise. Standing at the counter, chatting with the receptionist on duty (not Madelyn) was none other than Dr. Ronan Daly. The Irish-born doctor was leaning against the counter and looking around the med-center with interest. Kristin stopped in her tracks, blinking a few times.

He turned his head and smiled at her, cheerfully calling, "Kristin! This is an unexpected pleasure!" He held out his hands to her and Kristin joined him in three quick strides. She took the offered hands, and found herself drawn into an embrace. Blinking back tears, she returned the embrace, holding on for dear life. It was silly of her, to react like this. Really, it was. But between seeing Logan Garvey again and the extreme discomfort of the past hour or so. . . And it was so good to see Ronan again.

At last, she drew back and said with a wan smile, "This is a very unexpected, but very welcome, surprise." Of course, that was somewhat redundant, as surprises were supposed to be unexpected, but she really wasn't thinking creatively at the moment. And he didn't seem to mind, as he continued to beam at her. She went on, "So, what brings you to Campbell? We're more than happy to have you, but I don't think any of us were expecting to see you for another few months."

He grimaced, ever so slightly, and replied, "I was ordered int' takin' a holiday. I didn't feel much like putterin' around m' flat, and I'd never really seen North Carolina. So. . . here I am. But enough about me. . .how are you, your sister, and Elena? And Michael, how is he?" He began to lead her away from the reception desk, and Kristin didn't argue. They knew her well enough to know she would sign in and out at the end of the day, if she didn't do it immediately after returning from lunch.

"I saw Michael about two or three days ago. . .once he was feeling up to it, Meg brought him to dinner at our house. I mean, the house where she and I grew up. He's getting stronger all the time. Elena is fine, I think. . .haven't seen her that often. She and Meg have been working some overtime, to catch up on their work. And Megan is. . .well, honestly, I think if it weren't for Gavin, she would have collapsed from exhaustion weeks ago. Gavin. . .he's our cousin. . . he's been helping her with Michael," Kristin explained.

"Good. I'm glad she's accepted help. Your sister, charmin' as she can be, seems a little proud sometimes," Ronan observed. Kristin nearly snorted at that. A little? If he meant stubborn when he said proud, she would agree wholeheartedly. It seemed that it was a common family trait for them. And there were times when it seemed like her sister wore that particular adjective as a badge of honor. Knowing Megan, that wasn't impossible. But there were other things she wanted to talk about right now.

"So. . .what exactly brings you to the clinic? I mean, you're on vacation, after all," Kristin observed, changing the subject quickly. He was on vacation and he was in a medical clinic. . .what was up with that, anyhow? He looked slightly embarrassed and Kristin raised her eyebrows, trying very hard not to smile at his sheepish expression. He reminded her. . .oh, dammit, not that again! She curled her fingers until the nails bit into the skin of her palm.

And Ronan, fortunately, didn't call her at it. He replied ruefully, "It seems I can't stay away from medicine, even when I'm off duty." Kristin laughed. . .that sounded vaguely familiar! He added, "I've been hearin' about th' Christmas festival in town. Can you tell me more about that?" Kristin couldn't help making a face. This was the last thing she wanted to talk about, after the lunch date from hell. He asked, "Why do I have the feelin' I just had stepped int' it up to m' hips?"

"It isn't your fault. Our mother has been harassing Meg non-stop about taking Michael to the Christmas festival. Meg has her doubts about whether he's feeling up to it, something Mom doesn't seem to accept. I see Meg's point. . .he'll be an object of curiosity, even by the well-meaning. Plus, he still tires really easily. On the other hand, I get why Mom is pushing this. She's trying to prove that Megan doesn't have anything to be ashamed of," Kristin replied. Ronan's brows furrowed in confusion, and Kristin admitted reluctantly, "There are some older women in town who have been implying that Meg's a whore because she's unmarried and a man is living with her."

Ronan snorted and replied, "I doubt if Michael is capable of doin' anythin' even remotely ungentlemanly. Tell ye what. I'll talk wi' Megan, examine Michael, and if he's strong enough for this festival o' yours, I can relieve her mind. Sound good?" Kristin beamed, nodding happily. However, any further discussion about his assistance with her stubborn sister and equally stubborn mother was halted by sudden activity around them. Kristin frowned. . .she hadn't seen the clinic like this since. . .

"Kris, Dr. Daly. . .there's been an explosion. We need all the help we can get. And Captain Anders will be sending some officers as well," one of the nurses called. There was never any doubt about what they would do. Kristin just looked at Ronan, and found her own expectation staring back at her. It was settled just like that. She and her new friend joined the exodus, heading out of the clinic. She was needed, even if it was just to put band-aids on minor cuts and bruises. But in the back of her mind, as much as she hated it, a soft voice was whispering, _Maybe you'll see Logan there_.

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She should have stayed in bed. As Megan Rafferty drove home that night, reaching up to massage the back of her neck every few minutes, that idea kept repeating in her mind. She should have stayed in bed this morning. A brief image of shooting her alarm clock at five am when it went off made her smile briefly. Very briefly, because she would have never done that, as tempted as she may have been. And this morning, she was tempted.

Yes, it had been one of those days. She probably should have called in sick to work and just stayed under the covers. But, she dragged herself into the bathroom (her first mistake), took her shower, told Gavin and Michael good-bye and headed to work. She was running behind, and opted to get an orange juice at one of the drive-thru (her second mistake). It turned out that the lid wasn't on tight, and given the time of the morning, it was too dark to see clearly. . .so she spilled orange juice on her slacks. Despite her greatest wish at that moment, she didn't drop her head onto the steering wheel and cry. No, she picked herself up, drove to the nearest gas station, and changed clothes in their bathroom, mentally thanking Whoever was listening that she carried a change of clothes in her car, generally for emergencies.

She still managed to make it to work on time, and her day actually started to improve. . . right up until eleven thirty, when she took the call from her parents. She probably should have stuck to her original plan, which was to head back to the apartment, have a sandwich with Michael and Gavin, check on Mrs. Watkins and Nico, and then head back to work. _Note to self_, Megan thought dryly, shifting her position in her seat, _trust your own instincts in the future. There's a reason you have them._

But she hadn't followed her instincts this time, and thanks to that lunch date from hell, she had a pounding headache (though she had to remember to thank Dad for trying to change the subject by asking if she had heard about the rumors of a _Transformers_ movie, to be released in the summer of 2007). That was when things got even more interesting. Word came in that there was an explosion at a nearby plant. The plant was technically in another county, but a) they needed all the help they could get and b) many of the plant employees were Campbell residents.

So she learned Captain Anders told her as the older woman was leaving. . .along with a request for her to take Elena and Logan Garvey. It was a given that Elena would ride with her. . .her Jeep was bigger, after all. However, imagining her sister's reaction when she appeared at the site with Officer Logan Garvey in tow. . .well, that was where things got really interesting. And there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Kristin would be at the command center. She was heading to the clinic after lunch, and the staff would be at the site to help in whatever way they could. They always did when something like this happened (there were times when she really hated being right).

It wasn't that she disliked Logan Garvey. He had been a nice guy in school, and he was a nice guy now. His wife was an awesome lady. . .smart, compassionate, and possessing a ribald sense of humor that reminded Megan a great deal of her late grandmother. But as much as she liked both Logan and Maddy. . .Kristin was her little sister, and seeing that anguished expression on Kristy's face whenever she was around either Garvey broke her heart. She knew Kristy wanted to ask her about her infatuation with Tom Farrell. . .and the truth was, she still wasn't sure if it was something that would help her sister.

As usual, the Grande Dames of the town (led by Regine Farrell) had accompanied Mayor Farrell and others to assist. Some went to the command center to serve coffee, hot tea, water and sandwiches to the rescuers, while others went to a local community center to take care of the 'walking wounded,' the employees who weren't injured enough to be taken to the hospital immediately, but still shouldn't be alone.

And according to what Logan told her in the Jeep, the members of the Disabled American Veterans chapter in Campbell were driving some of the Grande Dames to both sites, after dropping off their passengers at their respective appointments. Some of the disabled veterans had asked their drivers to take them to the sites, as well, wanting to help out. That really didn't surprise Megan. They were too much like her grandfather. . .if something needed to be done, they were there to help in whatever way they could.

Once they arrived at the site of the explosion, things got more interesting. Logan had neglected to mention that Dorcas Meriweather was among the Grande Dames. Now there was a woman who could ruin a good mood in twenty seconds flat. Under ordinary circumstances, Megan could ignore her. . .quite frankly, despite (or maybe because of) her delusions of grandeur, she was mind-numbingly boring, and Megan had better things to do with her time. However, the woman decided to stay in the command center and had something to say to Megan about Michael living with her every time she returned from a sweep of the area she, Logan, and Elena were assigned. . .usually something along the lines of how selfish Megan was to worry her poor mother by living in sin with Michael. Oh, it was never termed quite like that, but that was the implication nonetheless.

Her nerves already scraped raw from the lunch and the situation, Megan very nearly ripped the older woman a new one. However, Regine Farrell (as ever) rescued the frustrated cop from the poisoned tongue. . .and rescued Dorcas from Megan forgetting that she was raised to be a lady, while Elena and Logan quickly closed ranks around Megan. The situation was unpleasant enough: during the last sweep, two more bodies had been found. . .two employees who had been in their cars, getting ready to go to lunch, when the explosion occurred and part of the cement roof collapsed on their cars. No one wanted that woman making things worse.

On the other hand, as one of the other Grande Dames pointed out, they needed all the help they could get. Which was true. . .but Regine decided that Dorcas was needed more over at the community center, and asked her son to see to it. The mayor was making a run to the community center anyhow. . .the poor man. However, he agreed to it cheerfully enough. . .but he waited until his mother's back was turned before he rolled his eyes in disgust. That earned him sympathetic glances from Megan and Elena, both of whom kept his secret. If Regine had seen him roll his eyes. . .well, he might be the mayor, but she was still his mother.

Even with Dorcas Meriweather out of the way, the rest of the day was a mess. There was one piece of luck. . .Kristin and the others from the clinic were sent to the community center, so she was kept away from Logan. And there was a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked familiar to Megan, who was looking after Kristin. Still. Twenty people had died, more were injured, some of them badly. Once the most critical cases were taken to the medical centers in the area, the volunteers at the community center began ferrying the less injured as well to receive medical attention. At six thirty pm, with everyone evacuated and all bodies removed from the rubble, Captain Anders released her people with her thanks. Now came the investigation, and someone else would be handling that. Their job was done.

Megan dropped Elena and Logan off at the station, made sure all of her paperwork was current (and that Kristin was home safely). While she was at the station, Gavin called to let her know that he had some errands to run and Cal was looking after Michael while he was gone. Gavin planned to be back before Megan got home, but couldn't make any promises. That was fine. Megan didn't really feel like talking right now. She was exhausted and during her conversation with Kristin, she learned that Ronan Daly was in town. He had suggested examining Michael, and if he was fit, she could take Michael to the Christmas festival for an hour or so.

By now, Megan was so fed up with talk of the Christmas festival, she was considering not going just out of spite. But she wearily admitted that if he was fit enough to go, it might be good for Michael. But only if he was strong enough. . .if he wasn't well enough, she was not subjecting him to even the most friendly attention. They still didn't know what happened to him and though he was quickly picking up English, Michael's memory was still non-existent. She wasn't putting him through that. She just wasn't.

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Gavin had to leave unexpectedly, speaking so quickly Mikal could only understand a few words. Unfortunately, he was speaking English, rather than the common language he generally used if he wanted them to converse. All he understood was 'son. . .trouble.' Mikal knew that he had a son. . .and that Gavin was leaving him with Cal, whom Mikal met on his first day here. Cal shook Gavin's hand, listening intently to whatever Gavin was saying, and then settled in front of the teevee.

Not long after Gavin's departure, Kristin arrived. . .with Ronan, both looking dirty and exhausted. Ronan quietly explained in their common language they had just come from a terrible accident. First, however, he wanted to examine Mikal. While Gavin often took him to a doctor, Meg didn't know that doctor. . .but she did know Ronan, and she trusted him. There was a great festival coming soon, and Meg feared he wasn't strong enough yet to attend. Ronan sought to alleviate her worries.

When Mikal questioned why Meg didn't trust this doctor, Ronan explained, "She trusts Gavin, laddie, and she trusts him to do right by you. . .but she doesn't know this doctor. If I tell her that you're fit enough to attend this festival, that will make her much more comfortable. Of this other doctor, she only knows that he served with Gavin. . .someone who isn't as familiar with you as I am." When he thought of it in those terms, Meg's concerns seemed quite valid, and Mikal submitted to the exam. Cal quietly left the room during the exam, telling Ronan that he was fixing Meg dinner. Kristin followed, looking more than a little lost. . .an expression he wasn't used to seeing on her face.

During the exam, Ronan spoke little, though he answered Mikal's questions about the accident and Kristin's unusual demeanor. As he had said, there had been a terrible accident at an industrial building, not far from here. About twenty people had died, many more had been injured. . .the injuries were both minor and critical, and decisions about who was injured badly enough to go to the houses of healing were done in the parking lot of the building where the accident occurred. As to Kristin's uncharacteristic sadness, Mikal learned that she was infatuated with a man who was already married. . .one of Meg and Layna's fellow guardians. He had been at the site of the accident as well, and Kristin always found it hard, seeing him.

Finally, Ronan told him about a woman whom Gavin mentioned to him in the past, Dorcas Merryweather. She was, to use a semi-polite term, a shrill little biddy, who delighted in causing trouble for others. Ronan and Gavin both had other words for her, but neither would use them in Mikal's hearing. According to Ronan, this woman was trying to destroy Meg's reputation among their community. All in all, it had been a very bad day for Meg. Perhaps telling Mikal wasn't such a wise idea, but even as Mikal suggested that the time had come for him to seek refuge elsewhere, Ronan shook his head and told him they had to trust Meg. If nothing else, Mikal did trust her. . .and he would not insult her by making such a decision for her.

Besides, while he was healing nicely, Mikal knew that realistically, he wasn't strong enough to go anywhere yet. At last, with the exam concluded, Ronan called Kristin back into the room, telling him in their common language that he would leave a note for Megan, telling her that she could take him to the festival for an hour or so. Mikal still didn't understand why this festival was so important, but decided it wasn't especially important. He accepted Kristin's kiss on his cheek, smiling and waving as they left.

Not long after, Meg returned home, looking even more dirty and exhausted. Cal led her to the sink, turned on the water (something that still surprised Mikal, even after seeing it on a daily basis since he woke up), squirted the soap into her hands, then led her back into the room with Mikal, the towel still in her hands. He pushed her into a sitting position beside Mikal, and then went back into the kitchen. Meg merely slumped against the cushions supporting her back and shoulders, closing her eyes with a soft sigh.

She looked so tired. Even this morning, when she briefly woke him up, going into the privy, she hadn't looked this tired. Mikal stared at her for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Meg was being challenged as his guardian, and he had done nothing to repay her. She expected. . .wanted. . .no payment, but that wasn't the point. For the first time, Mikal was hearing that others didn't think Meg had done the right thing by taking him in, and for the first time, he was realizing what that meant. These were people whom Meg protected, as part of her calling. While a part of him raged at that ingratitude, the other part wanted to do something. . .anything. . .to ease her burden.

Mindful of his still-healing wounds, Mikal put his hand on her shoulder and she opened her eyes, smiling a bit wanly at him. His heart contracted, seeing her attempt at reassuring him. She had been strong for him for weeks now. . .comforting him when he was ill or had a nightmare (and those were entirely too frequent for his liking). Was it not time that he comforted her? Yes. Time and long past time. Mikal removed his hand from her shoulder and gently touched her face. He wasn't entirely certain what he was doing, only that it seemed to be right. Meg blinked several times, her eyes very bright. A memory came to him then, of a beautiful young woman with long, pale blonde hair and luminous green eyes. She was heavy with child and he was very small. . .no more than four or five years of age. She held him against her side as he wept, and he could feel the child inside her moving, as if the unborn baby meant to comfort him as well.

Mikal's hand left Meg's face to reach around to her other shoulder, and he drew her to rest against his good side, where he wasn't injured. It was a measure of just how tired she was, how badly her heart ached, that she made no attempt to fight him. Instead, she settled against him, her head now resting on his uninjured shoulder, and began to weep softly. Mikal only held her as best he could. Yes. It was time, and past time, for him to make contributions. . .and he would start here, on this day.


	12. Pleased to Meet You

Author's Note: Okay, not quite as long of a wait this time. This particular story is almost done, with at least one more chapter and an epilogue left to go. I've actually started outlining the next story, working title _An Ounce of Prevention_. It skips ahead a few months to April (I think), so Boromir can have conversations in English. Let's see, in this chapter, we have more fall-out from the devastating explosion in Campbell's neighbor, Gavin meets Ronan face-to-face, and a revelation is made (though it wouldn't surprise me if some of my readers saw it coming). This will probably be my last update for 2009, so to everyone, Merry Christmas. . .Happy Hanukkah. . .Happy Solstice, whichever holiday you celebrate, and have a happy New Year. I'm hoping that 2010 turns out to be a much better year. And now, on with the story!

Chapter Eleven

Pleased to meet you, Hope You guess my name

Well, it was about time! She had thought she would need to make another appearance before he started doing his part! However, even as the thought occurred to her, Pelagia knew she was being unfair to Boromir. He was still somewhat weak, though gaining his strength back on a daily basis. There was little he could do at the moment. . .but carefully pulling Megan into his arms to comfort her was a good start. It was a mark of just how exhausted she was, too, that the young detective hadn't fought him. . .simply gave into Boromir's gentle tugs.

She was now curled against Boromir's shoulder, weeping quietly. The Gondorian had his good arm wrapped around her protectively, comfortingly, and he rested his cheek against her dark hair. Megan was grieving for the lives lost, for the millions of chances that were lost forever today. . .for the younger sister who loved someone whom she shouldn't. . .for Gavin and his strained relationship with his son. She cried because she was exhausted and it was fine, because the man she knew as Michael was strong enough to be strong for her. The same compassion that led Boromir of Gondor to rest a comforting hand on Gimli's shoulder in the Mines of Moria, to hold that same dwarf after Olorin's fall, and to comfort Frodo Baggins as they awaited entrance into the Golden Wood now led him to hold a grieving police detective.

Reassured that Megan was in good hands, Pelagia directed her attention to other parts of the apartment. She had to leave shortly, as she needed to return to Legolas and Haldir. A quick glance into the kitchen told her that Cal was almost done with the food he had heated up for Megan's dinner. The microwave had gone off several minutes earlier, but the lasagna required some time to cool, and there was also the matter of the parmesan cheese. Pelagia had no idea why the girl insisted on sprinkling the powdery cheese over her lasagna. . .her pizza. . .her baked ziti. . .her spaghetti, when there was already had cheese on them. She just did it. And Cal knew his old friend well enough to know that if he didn't put the cheese on, Megan would come back into the kitchen and do it herself. Pelagia sighed. Foolish girl. Foolish, stubborn, proud girl. Then again, that was part of the reason Boromir had been steered toward these Champions. . .one reason at least. He needed someone to take care of him. . .and he needed to take care of someone. It was yet another reminder to her that when all was said and done, Boromir was a protector.

Satisfied that one Champion was taking care of another, Pelagia turned her attention to other things. Hmmm. She truly wasn't concerned with the likes of Dorcas Meriweather, though she didn't begrudge Ailsa Rafferty her concern. She was, after all, Megan's mother, and that was what a mother did, no matter how old her child was. However, the local busybody wasn't Pelagia's concern, and Ailsa was more than capable of dealing with the woman. Pelagia happened to know that the Meriweather woman's pastor was preparing a sermon on the dangers of gossip and of assuming one knew the entire story. However, she also knew that Dorcas would simply agree with what her pastor said and continue blithely on her path, entirely unaware that the sermon was meant for her. Of course. With individuals like that, it was always meant for someone else, never for her.

She wasn't evil. Not even a mundane evil. . .but she also wasn't worth Pelagia's attention. And so, Pelagia dismissed the busybody from her mind. On the other hand, seeing Cal Watkins place a tv tray in front of Megan, that young man was another story. Yes, he was a Champion in another town (he was claimed by one of her brothers, if she remembered correctly). She was rather fond of him herself. He was something of a scoundrel, with an underlying sweetness (such as putting together this quick dinner for Megan and lightly kissing her hair when he put the tray of food in front of her). Needless to say, he was quite popular with the ladies in his current home.

Reassured that Megan was in good hands until Gavin returned to the apartment, even if Cal left, Pelagia turned her attention to Elena, who was sitting in her parents' home on the other side of town, her youngest niece cradled against her chest as she rocked the youngster from side to side. At the same time, she listened to the other children, a gentle, sad smile on her face. Pelagia's own smile echoed Elena's and satisfied that both of her detectives were in good hands, she had one last stop to make.

Not because he was one of her Champions, but because his life would intersect with the lives of her Champions. . .and very soon. Namely, one Brendan Farrell. . .or as Boromir once knew him, Frodo Baggins. Until the previous year, Brendan Farrell had been an average college student. However, with the overdose of his high school best friend, Brendan began to spin out of control. It was an old story. . .a young man alienating his friends and family, turning to theft and even murder to feed his habit. Things came to a head when his friend almost died. The young man was in question was healing from his descent into self-destruction. . .however, Brendan's own descent had only just begun. Shortly after the final confrontation with his friend in an alley beside one of the town's restaurants, Brendan began having nightmares about his previous life in Middle-earth.

For now, he was all right. . .however, her concern was what would happen when he came face to face with Boromir. It was Pelagia's intuition that his friend's drug-induced madness triggered his memories from that ancient time when another friend behaved in a very similar manner, as a result of a very different sort of drug. . .namely, the One Ring. She would need to watch the young man very carefully, and speak with Ronan to ensure that Boromir didn't come into contact with the college student before he was prepared to deal with the memories. He was already beginning to remember his past. It was a most complex business, and she would need to step carefully.

With that silent promise made, Pelagia now returned to British Columbia. She sometimes forgot about the change in time from the East Coast to the West. Which was why she found herself blinking at the bright sunlight as she settled in the dining room where Legolas and Haldir were setting the table in preparation for the evening meal. It was a peculiarity of the Elven prince that even when he was eating something as common as pizza, the usual china and silverware was used. Peculiar but, as the human mortals would say, cute.

Just like Elven hearing. . .ah, no, that was 'acute.' The two young Elves turned to face her, as she delicately cleared her throat. And Pelagia couldn't help but smile at their matching expressions of shock and chagrin (particularly the princeling). She said, "Oh, do keep working. . .pay no mind to me. I can speak while you work." Oh, this was so much fun! Much as she loved watching over Megan, Kristin, Boromir, and Elena, she missed actually interacting with people.

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It was a little after seven when Kristin Rafferty wearily entered her house. Dr. Daly had been kind enough to drop her off at the clinic after leaving the site explosion and Megan's apartment. He really didn't have to do that, the girl had told him more than once on the way over, she could have gotten a ride with Captain Anders. The poor man looked exhausted. At least he planned to return to his room at the inn and sleep for a week. That was what he said, at least, though Kristin had her doubts about whether or not he'd be able to sleep at all. She was having doubts about her own ability to sleep.

Her mother had left dinner in the kitchen for her and Kristin opted to take her belongings into her room before coming back in to heat her dinner. Which was. . .baked ziti. Kristin allowed herself a humorless smile at the sight of the food. It was Megan and Kristin's favorite when they were younger, and no doubt meant as a peace offering. _Dad most likely said something to her about lunch_, she noted a bit numbly. She was glad. When she had the energy to do anything more than put one foot in front of the other, Kristin would be sure to thank her father, after telling her mother than Ronan had decided it was okay for Meg to take Michael to the Christmas festival.

She all-but-limped into her room, easing her purse onto her bed. Funny. She was in her room earlier today, but it seemed different. Or maybe she was different. Kristin shuddered, not liking that idea at all. Right now, she didn't like the idea of growing up, maturing. . .being an adult. She wanted to be a little girl again, and hide in her sister's arms, peeking through Megan's fingers while they watched tv. A videotape sat beside her bedside. . .a tape Megan gave her before leaving for college, so many years earlier.

Kristin had 'inherited' her taste in cartoons, tv shows and movies from her older sister, and on that tape were episodes of their favorite cartoons and tv shows. It was yet another way of giving Kristin something of Megan's to hold onto, so she could feel close to her older sister. The first cartoon. . .or really, show of any kind. . .Kristin could remember watching was old episodes of _Dungeons and Dragons_. She was very little at the time, and her clearest memory was of snuggling in Megan's arms whenever Venger was on the screen, and Elena teasing her sister about having a crush on the Archmage.

_Later,_ she promised herself, needing a little of that childhood stability, _I'll watch it later_. For now, she had to re-heat her dinner. Still dragging a little, Kristin made her way back into the kitchen. First order of business: make sure there was nothing in the oven. No one ever really told her what would happen if she put an empty skillet in a heating oven, along with whatever she was warming up, but Kristin was also sure she really didn't want to discover those consequences first hand. A quick check revealed all was clear and she proceeded with heating up her dinner.

"I won't ask how bad it was," her father said softly. Kristin would have jumped, but that would have required too much energy, no matter how startled she was. Especially since he actually managed to sneak up on her, something he hadn't been able to do since Megan graduated from the academy. She turned dull brown eyes toward him. Her father's gentle, sympathetic expression melted into something else. . .a sort of distant grief. He cupped her shoulders in his hands, saying softly, "Oh, baby girl. . .I'm so sorry." The girl swayed forward until her head came to rest on his chest.

Between one breath and the next, she was enfolded in her father's arms and she felt like she was twelve years old once again. Kristin clung to him, whispering, "I . .how does she do it, Daddy? How does Megan keep her sanity when she sees things like that? I always knew that sometimes being a cop was hard, but how does she. . .? I mean, there was this one person who had been in his car, getting ready to go to lunch. Part of the wall and ceiling collapsed on him, in his car. The cement smashed through his windshield, it was so, so. . ." Her voice trailed off.

Her father's arms tightened around her, but said nothing. Kristin blinked back tears. In a way, talking about the horrors she saw this afternoon was easier. She didn't dare tell her father about Logan. . .she just didn't think he would understand. More to the point, she wasn't ready to take that chance. No matter how much it had hurt to see him tonight. Instead, she whispered, "Dr. Daly and I stopped off at Meg's apartment on the way here. He wanted to look at Michael. . .left a note for Meg, to let her know he's okay to go to the Christmas Festival. Mom will be pleased."

Even she winced at the bitterness in her voice. But her father didn't chastise her. Instead, he murmured, "I can't imagine what you saw tonight, Kristy. . .or how stupid even having a Christmas festival seems. But, that's why we need this. So many terrible things have happened in this town over the last few months, we need this reminder of what's good in the world, and that some sacrifices are worthwhile. I know you needed to talk to your sister today at lunch, but your mom is trying to protect you and your sister with all this talk of the Christmas festival."

"I know," Kristin answered hoarsely, "I know. I know what that evil old biddy has been doing, trying to turn people in town against Megan. She couldn't keep her mouth shut while we were trying to work. . .kept talking about how selfish Megan is for taking in Michael. . .though she didn't put it like that. . .and how ashamed you and Mom must be of her. Mrs. Farrell tried to help, by talking about how proud both Grandma and Grandpa would have been, but she just made things worse. Mayor Farrell finally had to drive Mrs. Meriweather over to the other site, just to keep things from really going haywire. The people actually trying to help didn't need all of that drama! I know I'm not supposed to, but I hate that woman. I absolutely loathe her!"

Her father pulled back just enough to kiss her forehead lightly, answering, "You're right, you shouldn't hate her. Not because of her, but because of you. It's bad enough that viper's trying to hurt my older daughter. . .I won't have her hurting you, too." Kristin blinked back tears and moved deeper into his embrace, wishing for a moment that she was twelve years old again, and that her father's arms really could protect her from everything and anything. But that illusion faded a long time ago, and now she knew the truth. Besides, she did know that turning back time wasn't possible. . .or even desirable.

"I just. . .it isn't fair," Kristin rasped out, cringing at the words. She hated that she had even spoken them. She hated that she was whining like a little kid who hadn't gotten what she wanted. Life wasn't fair. . .she had realized that some time ago. But. . .but that never stopped her from wishing it was. Especially when people like Dorcas Meriweather were involved. Elena's mother once remarked rather bitterly that it was people like Mrs. Meriweather who gave small towns a bad name. It was a rather unexpected thing to hear from the normally quiet, gentle woman. . .but people often made the same mistake with her that they made with Megan.

"I know, sweetheart. I know it isn't fair. Especially when you consider that Megan would no more hesitate to risk her life to save that old biddy than she would hesitate to risk her life for you. Yeah, she's a cop. . .she's to preserve and protect the people of this town, whether she likes certain inhabitants or not. That isn't the point. The point is, it isn't right that some jealous crone makes your life, and your sister's life difficult for doing her job. And that's exactly what this is," her father replied. Startled, Kristin pulled back to look up at him. He nodded seriously, explaining, "This really has nothing to do with the morality of Megan's decision to bring that young man to Campbell or his living in her apartment while he heals. It has everything to do with Dorcas Meriweather's jealousy of your grandmother, and her jealousy of your sister. You look surprised, baby girl. . .but Dorcas has always been jealous of Megan and Sayre. Remember, she's only lived here for about fifteen years, and she's been accepted. But she's never been viewed with the same affection as you, your sister, or Elena. The people of this town watched the three of you grow up. You're family in a way that she never will be. And she can't accept that."

"She needs to grow up and get over herself, then," Kristin muttered. Her father merely laughed softly, though there was no malice or even amusement. It was, in fact, a very sad laugh. She leaned her head against his chest again, asking softly, "What can I do, Daddy? What should I do? Mrs. Farrell tried to help by defending Megan and talking about how proud Gramma would have been, but she just made things worse. And I know Megan doesn't want Elena involved. You know how Mrs. Meriweather is."

Her father kissed her forehead and replied, "Your sister can't keep Elena out of it, and she knows that. Elena will get involved if she thinks she's needed. They'll find their peace somehow. They always do. And you? I don't think there's anything you can do, baby doll. Just love your sister and support her. That's Megan really wants. . .our love and support. We don't have to fight her battles for her." Kristin nodded and snuggled against his chest again. He hugged her tightly, murmuring, "That's the other reason your mother wants so badly for everyone to go to the Christmas Festival. There are good people in this town. . . good people, bad people, petty people, cowardly people. But they need to see their police officers and firefighters, their soldiers. It reassures them."

Kristin couldn't argue. Logan's presence aside, she couldn't deny that she relaxed, just a little, when she saw her older sister and Elena. Whether it was because they were among the town's protectors or because Megan was her sister, she wasn't sure. Instead of arguing, she just clung to her father, a little while longer. All too soon, she would return to be the semi-adult she considered herself to be. . .for now, she would continue to be her daddy's little girl. For now, for as long as she could.

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And so day turned into night, then night again into day. The amnesiac the Rafferty family knew as 'Michael' found he was strong enough to help his exhausted, heart-sore guardian into her room after she finished her dinner (although he was exhausted when he got back to his own bed). Kristin Rafferty ate her leftover baked ziti, gave her father one last hug, then went to bed and spent the remaining hours of the evening by watching old cartoons that still held her heart. Elena Gutierrez spent those same hours with her nieces and nephews, reminding herself why she had chosen to become a cop. And Ronan Daly returned to his room at the inn, quietly mourning all that was lost and all that remained.

In short, life went on, as it always does, as it always must. As Kristin guessed, once Ronan gave Michael a clean bill of health, Megan acquiesced in the matter of the Christmas party. However, Ronan also agreed with Meg when she stated that they would be there for a maximum of two hours. Michael would be exhausted and so would she. Ailsa happily accepted this compromise, bringing peace to the Rafferty home again. Of course, that lasted up until Ailsa decided that both of her daughters needed new dresses for the party. . .however, for the sake of his own sanity, Francis immediately put his foot down. Kristin, who was the only sister who knew about that particular battle, had absolutely no trouble in keeping that particular secret from Megan. . .along with the secret about her mother wanting Megan to help decorate the community center for the party. However, when Francis informed her that they would be receiving assistance from Tom and Brendan Farrell, and Gavin, Ailsa had no choice but to eighty-six her plan to involve her older daughter.

But while Kristin kept those secrets from her older sister, she kept none of them from Gavin Rafferty. He had returned to Campbell with Reese the day after the explosion, exhausted and at his wits end with his son. While the argument could be made that the last thing he needed was further family intrigue, the truth was, it was exactly what he needed: something to distract him from his son's seeming desire to destroy his life. Reese would be twenty years old on his next birthday, and much as he hated it, the boy had to live his own life. He couldn't keep saving the boy from himself, not if he wanted Reese to start saving himself.

And so, he distracted himself when he went to the Rafferty home on the night of the community center decoration, a few days after the explosion. And what a distraction it was! Everyone had plenty to say. During dinner, Ailsa and Francis debated about the best way to decorate the front yard. His was already done, so he offered his assistance. . .an offer that was gratefully accepted. After dinner, he listened to Kristin's account of what happened at the site of explosion. She was obviously trying to come to terms with what she had seen and experience, and listening to her was the least Gavin could do. However, he quickly realized that he was hearing far more than she was consciously telling him. True, he already knew some of it, but she confirmed a great deal for him. Kristin thought no one else saw the longing glances she cast toward Logan Garvey. The poor girl was a lot more obvious than she realized, but Gavin couldn't bring himself to tell her that. She wanted to believe that no one else knew, and for now, no one had the heart to tell her otherwise. Not Gavin. . .not Logan. . .and certainly not Madelyn, who saw how the girl yearned for her husband, and yet never acted on those feelings.

Did she remind him of Eowyn? Not especially. There were similarities, of course, but Kristin was Kristin, not the reincarnation of the White Lady of Rohan. . .a fact for which he was deeply grateful. He didn't recommend being a reincarnation, or being aware of one's past lives. He was grateful that Kristin would not have that burden (at least, he _hoped _she would never know that burden). There was a time, when he was about Reese's age, when he felt he had to live up to Aragorn Elessar. However, he would focus on that later. Kristin needed his attention now. Eventually, she talked herself out and slumped against him. . .not just talked out, but also worn out. Poor kid. Gavin eased her down onto the sofa properly, leaving her nestled under an afghan her grandmother quilted several decades earlier. With a gentle caress of her black hair, Gavin walked onto the back porch and then out into the yard. He shivered slightly, though not enough to go back inside and get a jacket.

As the year came to an end, the darkness came earlier and earlier. The setting sun made him think of another twilight, thirty thousand years earlier. Now able to think about what troubled him during his conversation with And his mind drifted back to his younger self, who had wanted so much to live up to being Aragorn Elessar. Gavin shook his head. Those days almost got him killed, but they also led him to the Marines. . .something he could never regret. Once he got over the heartbreak of realizing he would never truly be Aragorn Elessar, Gavin threw himself whole-heartedly into being the best Marine he could be. Aragorn Elessar had been a king, a Ranger, a healer, a teacher. But Gavin Rafferty was just Gavin Rafferty, and once he became accustomed to that idea, he was immensely grateful. Because being just Gavin Rafferty was good enough. He would accept his heritage, his past, as the King of the Reunified Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, but that was all it was to him. . .the past.

He had memories enough and scars enough from this lifetime. Perhaps that philosophy was contrary to what he was doing as Boromir's guide, but he didn't think so. He wouldn't be much of a human being if he left Boromir to drift. Sure, he had Megan and Elena, but neither girl spoke Sindarin. And while Boromir wasn't as fluent in Sindarin as he was in Westron, he could at least understand it, which made it easier to teach him English. He wasn't Aragorn, but the blond-haired man recovering in Megan's apartment was Boromir, and there was enough of Aragorn left in Gavin for that to mean something. To mean everything.

The door opened and closed behind him, and Francis Rafferty said softly, "We'll be leaving for the community center in five minutes. You're welcome to ride with us." Gavin thought about that for a minute, then nodded his agreement. Yes, that probably would be the best idea right now. He knew Francis and Ailsa would offer to let him stay overnight if it became necessary. And if it became necessary, it made more sense for him to ride with them. Francis hesitated, then added, "Then I'll meet you at the car."

Again, Gavin nodded. He thought of Megan, most likely sitting in her living room with Boromir. He hadn't seen much of her over the last few days. There was still some clean-up going on at the site of the explosion, and there were several cops from Campbell who were helping out with that. She might have been among them. . .but it was also possible that she pulled her shifts, then returned home to Boromir. If he was able, he kept an eye on his old friend while Megan was at work. . .if not, Johanna Watkins and her grandson did that for her. Along with Nico, of course, who seemed to have great affection for the misplaced Gondorian warrior.

Then Francis did something that really surprised him. He took two steps toward the door, then turned and observed quietly, "He's here for a reason. Slain Gondorian warriors do not simply turn up in twenty-first century America, three hundred centuries after the Fourth Age." All right, it was something of an understatement to say that Gavin was surprised. Shocked, he turned to the older man, already protesting. . .what? That he didn't know what Francis was talking about? Not smart. The older man just shook his head and added, "Don't even try to tell me that you don't recognize him, Gavin. I know better. You and I both lived during the Third Age of what some called Middle-earth. You and I both knew that man now living with Megan in her apartment. I'm not entirely sure who you were, but we also knew each other. Now the question becomes, who brought him here and why was it allowed? It's different for you and I. . .we're reincarnations. But not him. No, he's Boromir of Gondor, all right."

Gavin couldn't answer for several minutes. What was he supposed to say? Tell this man that he was wrong, even though Gavin knew he was right? Not possible. At last, he said softly, "Something is coming. Something evil. Maybe not Sauron, but something dark and something ugly. You and I are both reincarnations. I'm ninety percent sure that Kristy's new friend Ronan Daly is a reincarnation, as is Brendan Farrell. Campbell is a small town, not even a blip on the national radar, much less the international. And yet, so many reincarnations from that time and place is here, now."

He looked back at Francis and repeated, "Something is coming. Something terrible. And we have to be ready for. . .for whatever it is." The other man nodded, and Gavin added, "I'll meet you in the car in five minutes. There's something I need to do." Francis hesitated only for a moment, but nodded and went back inside. . .probably to collect his wife and younger daughter. Gavin turned back to the starry night and whispered, "Whoever is listening. . .the name we use doesn't matter. . .just watch over us. That's all I ask. Just watch over us and support us when we lose our strength."

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Five days after the terrible explosion was the annual Christmas festival/Christmas party/however you wanted to put it in the town of Campbell, North Carolina. Over the last few days, Ronan spent most of his time resting. . .and thinking. It was coming time for him to retire, something he tried not to think about most of the time. There was too much to do. But. . .but now, he was finding more and more reasons why he should think about it. The explosion a few days earlier forced him to acknowledge something he had been trying to avoid over the last few years. . .he had lost his passion for practicing medicine. He still cared about his patients and doing the best he could for them.

But the passion that drove him for decades was gone. There was nothing wrong with that. . .after all, passion could only take one so far. But. . .the loss of his passion for practicing medicine also resulted in him losing heart. It was time to think about retiring. He wasn't sure he was actually ready to retire. . .but perhaps he should think about it. However, that could wait. For now, he had a party to attend. He dressed in what young Callum Watkins called 'business casual,' which was dark slacks and a plain white shirt. He possessed no clothes that could be called 'Christmassy' by any means. Ah, well. He could always stop off at K-Mart or Wal-Mart on the way over and pick up a festive tie. He was sure they would have something appropriate. Ronan smiled to himself. Mental exhaustion aside, he really was looking forward to this evening. According to Janithy, a lot of work went into the decoration of the community center.

She went on to tell him that he would meet even more people tonight. . .people like the mayor, Thomas Farrell, and his college student son, Brendan; the police captain, Lydia Anders, for another; and many others in town. There were people in her town that she didn't like, such as Dorcas Meriweather (described by Janithy as the Wicked Witch of Annapolis, as she was apparently from the city which held the Naval Academy); others whom she did (two she mentioned by name was a young cop Ronan met briefly at the command center, Logan Garvey, and his wife Madelyn); and still others, she wasn't sure about (Dr. Lucius Wellington in particular). He would meet them all.

Others, he would be meeting for the second or third time. There was the lovely young lawyer, Bronwyn Harris, who was in town to help convict Dalton Robeson. She seemed rather familiar to him, though he was very cautious in trying to find fellow reincarnates, a lesson he learned from Gabriel, who looked for other reincarnates from Middle-earth, seeking redemption. His friend found himself burned on more than one occasion because of that very noble desire. No. No, he would be careful.

At a quarter after six, he called a taxicab; at six thirty, the cab pulled up in front of his room; and at six forty-five, the cab drew to a halt in front of the community center. He chose to take a cab tonight, in the event he wished to imbibe. As a doctor for all of these years, he saw too many times what happened when a drunk idjit got behind the wheel of the car. He couldn't do much about another idjit who drove drunk, but he would do his best to make sure his irresponsibility didn't take another life.

As he entered the community center, a smiling young girl offered to take his coat. She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen, with pale gold hair and bright blue eyes. He gave her the requested item with a charmed smile, then wandered further into the building. Whoever had decorated the building did an outstanding job. A gigantic Christmas tree stood in the middle of the room. . .it somewhat reminded him of the tree in _The Poseidon Adventure _(the original, thank you very much). The community center looked like it was decorated by a community. . .or a family. . .rather than an interior decorator, which charmed Ronan all the more. But that quickly paled in comparison to the expression on Kristin Rafferty's face when she saw him. Her brown eyes lit up and she all but ran to his side, throwing her arms around him in obvious delight. He returned the embrace, trying hard not to laugh. He didn't want her to think he was laughing at her.

In short order, he was introduced to her parents. . .Francis, a tall, handsome man in his early sixties with silvering hair and bright eyes, and Ailsa, a pretty, auburn-haired woman who could have been accurately described as 'birdlike.' He quickly learned that Ailsa grew up here in Campbell, where her father settled after World War II, while Francis was original from Canada. He didn't explain what brought him to Campbell, but he obviously loved the town as much as his wife and daughters did. After introducing him to her parents, Kristin next led him to her sister, who was standing near the tree with Boromir in the wheelchair. He hadn't seen either since the night of the explosion, when he examined Boromir. The young man was healing well, Ronan was pleased to note. He was settled in his wheelchair with a bottle of water in his hand. Excellent. . .with the amount of blood he lost, Megan was ensuring he wouldn't be dehydrated. She noticed his eyes stray toward the water bottle and smiled faintly. Kristin blurted out as he quietly talked to Megan, "Oh, Gavin's here!"

Ronan turned to see a tall, dark-haired man enter the community center. . .and was immediately hit with a breathless sensation, the same sensation he experienced the first time he saw Boromir again. He _knew_ that man. Kristin continued to talk, telling him that Gavin was their cousin on their father's side, that he was the first of their uncle's children to be born in the United States and that he had grown up with Megan and Kristin. . .more Megan than Kristin, since he was nineteen years old when Kristin was adopted. The man grinned at the two girls, nodded to Boromir, and smiled somewhat quizzically at Ronan. And then he knew. It was in the nod, something he vaguely remembered seeing in that first lifetime. . .during the awful battle in Moria. The cave troll, the horror of finding Balin's tomb, the sheer terror of thinking that Frodo was dead. Yes. He knew that man. Of all people to find here. . .he looked nothing at all like the ranger king, but Ronan knew Gavin Rafferty was none other than the other man to be the reincarnation of Aragorn Elessar.

While he knew Gavin was part of Megan's family, and both girls mentioned their cousin on more than one occasion (Kristin in particular noting how Gavin never called their father 'Uncle Francis,' choosing instead to call him by his given name), in one of those weird twists of fate, every time Ronan went to see Boromir at Megan's apartment, it was either Megan herself taking care of Boromir or that lovely German lady who belonged to Nicodemus. He knew from talking with Mrs. Watkins that the retired Marine also helped Megan and had, in fact, practically moved in with her to look after Boromir.

Despite the millennia since he last spoke with Aragorn, Ronan didn't hasten to the younger man's side. He had waited all these eons. He could wait a little longer. Instead, he was introduced to many other key people in the town and enjoyed the festive atmosphere. He had met Mayor Farrell's mother at the command center after the explosion, and the charming woman immediately joined him and the girls when she saw them. After exchanging pleasantries with the girls, Regine Farrell took his arm and led him over to meet her son and grandson (the younger of whom looked very familiar indeed, but he would worry about that later).

Introductions made, he met Captain Lydia Anders next. So this was Megan and Elena's boss. He couldn't help but chuckle whenever townspeople would try to herd Mayor Farrell and Captain Anders toward the mistletoe. They made quite an attractive couple: Mayor Farrell was only a few inches taller than Ronan with black hair beginning to silver and bright blue eyes, and according to the girls, quite devastating when he was younger. Captain Anders was around Elena's height with blond hair a few shades darker than Boromir's, and cornflower blue eyes. While not beautiful in the traditional sense, she was quite pretty, and as taken with the mayor as he was with her. Everyone in town seemed to know that they belonged together, but those two were being stubborn.

Ronan's attention shifted next to Elena, who was dancing with one of her fellow cops and laughing with delight. He was a big man, broad shoulders and thick-waisted, but he was incredibly light on his feet. Santucci, Ronan thought his name was, but wasn't sure. The circle complete for now, he returned to Megan's side. She was, he noted, never more than a few steps away from Boromir, her stance protective. Ronan was glad to see his old friend still in the wheelchair, though he clearly didn't enjoy being there. He mentioned that fact to Megan, who dryly answered, "He likes the pain when he spends too much time out of it even less."

Wise young man. And he was out of water, so Megan wheeled him away to dispose of the water bottle and get them both something to eat and drink. She promised to return in a few minutes, but Ronan assured her that he would be fine. Even with his attention focused on Megan and Boromir, Ronan still sensed Gavin's approach. Without taking his eyes from the pair, Ronan observed, "I would say you haven't changed a bit, laddie, but that would be something of a lie." He was rewarded with a muffled snort, and Ronan grinned before continuing, "You don't seem to be surprised."

"Meg told me a little about you, the way you behaved with Boromir. The more she told me, the more I sensed the Dr. Ronan Daly who looked after Boromir with such tenderness and devotion was one of the Nine. Then I saw you tonight. . .a stretched out version of Gimli. I must admit, I never would have taken Gimli's reincarnation to be a doctor," Gavin observed quietly. Ronan stifled a snort. The lad wasn't nearly as perceptive as he thought, but he could see Gavin's point.

"I'm delving in human bodies now, lad, rather than in the earth. Is it me or does Mayor Farrell seem familiar to you?" the Irish doctor asked, changing the subject abruptly. He didn't want to talk about his profession tonight. There were too many other things to be said. Thirty thousand years since he had spoken with this man, and they couldn't even make a dent in what needed to be said before the party was over. _In that case_, he thought, _don't even make the attempt. Just say what must be said._

"It isn't just you. I think we knew him in the past, and I _know _we knew his son Brendan in the past," Gavin replied and Ronan nodded. Yes, he looked like a human version of Frodo Baggins, but it was his reaction to Ronan that sealed the deal. Gavin mused, "It's eerie, the number of reincarnations we have in this small town. Who would have thought a little town in North Carolina would have the reincarnations of so many extraordinary people?"

Ronan just smiled, and Gavin continued, "Saruman is one of the town denizens." The doctor's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He wasn't expecting that! Gavin explained, "I actually know his grandson Jason better. He's a good kid, about a year or so younger than Meg. . .a structural engineer who works freelance. His grandfather, Saruman's reincarnation, is a retired college professor. Dr. Lucius Wellington is his name now, and he runs a dog sanctuary."

Saruman. . .his reincarnation ran a dog sanctuary? Taking note of Ronan's obvious surprise, Gavin smirked and went on, "I've never had a run-in with the guy, but he seems okay. Doesn't really want anything to do with people as a general rule, just wants for his grandson and great-granddaughter to be happy. Other than that, all he really wants is to be left alone." Well. That was certainly unexpected. And yet. . .was it? Ronan thought of Gabriel Wainwright, who ached for a redemption that wasn't really his. So, perhaps Lucius Wellington's desire to be left alone to enjoy his grandson and great-grandchild wasn't so hard to understand.

Gavin observed, almost to himself, "He does seem to like Meg and Kristy, along with Elena. There's this old witch in town. . .Dr. Wellington calls her a harridan, and he's not far wrong. . .she started spreading lies and gossip about Megan after Meg brought Boromir home from Raleigh. Dr. Wellington defends my. . .cousin, and accuses this woman of being jealous." Gavin's hesitation before calling Megan his cousin cemented a suspicion Ronan had since he first saw Gavin. . .and since Kristin mentioned that Gavin never called their father 'Uncle Francis' or their mother 'Aunt Ailsa.'

With that in mind, he asked gently, "Your cousin. . .or your sister?" Gavin's head whipped around so fast, Ronan barely held back a wince. Oooh, that had to hurt. But they had no opportunity to speak further, because a man who was so obviously Lucius Wellington had taken notice of them and was now approaching, his expression worried and angry. Well. It seemed that they would soon encounter another reincarnate. The trick, he decided, was to convince Dr. Wellington that they were no threat to him, to his grandson, or to his great-granddaughter.

Right. Always easier said than done.


	13. Reckonings

Author's Note: Hey, it wasn't six months (or longer) this time! Yea! Of course, it is a little shorter than usual, but given my recent spat with writer's block, I figured this was the best option. Hope everyone had a great Easter (who celebrate it). . .we went to Georgia to see my brother, sister-in-law, and munchkins. For those who didn't come across it, I posted another _Champions_ story back in January, in the BBC _Robin Hood_ category, taking place after the series finale of that show. In short, Boromir and James Norrington just got a brother Champion in the form of Guy of Gisborne, though I'm still not sure where he'll end up. In any event, in this chapter, we have an explanation of the little bombshell Ronan dropped previously.

Chapter Twelve

Reckonings

It was a curious thing, Christmas time. Of course, as a child, she truly believed that it was the most wonderful time of the year. As an adult, there were many times when 'bah, humbug' summed up her feelings. Dealing with crowds on Christmas Eve (okay, that wasn't real bright), the redundancy of Christmas music (how could anyone hear _Santa Claus is Comin' to Town_ five times in one hour and keep their sanity?), learning that the rest of her family wouldn't be here for Christmas, spending an hour or so on Christmas Eve night, wrapping presents that would be unwrapped hours later (her own fault).

And then there were other times, when just the sight of the wreaths and ribbons adorning the streetlights could lift her spirits. As were the smiles and hugs she received when she wheeled Michael into the community center. It looked really nice, with a huge Christmas tree in the center of the building. It was an artificial tree, to avoid fire hazards, but someone enterprising soul decided to fill the room with the smell of pine. The entire building was bright, cheerful, and welcoming.

Under the tree were several brightly wrapped presents, complete with shiny paper, bows, and ribbons. Several people in the community bought gifts, primarily for the local children. According to her mother, it was a suggestion made by one of the newer residents, who served in the military for several years. Apparently, it was a staple of base Christmas parties, and it started in Campbell when Megan was a little girl. That was news to her. . .on the other hand, she spent several holidays in Canada when she was little. . .so it was entirely possible that it began on a Christmas when she was in Canada.

In each corner of the room was a smaller Christmas tree, each decorated more ornately than the one in the center. . .which also stood to reason, as it was smaller. There were times when she swore the smaller Christmas trees would fall over from the weight of the ornaments, but it hadn't happened. . .yet. Had to make sure that qualifier was in there. It hadn't happened yet, but that didn't mean it wouldn't. And from the ceiling hung several banners, similar to the ones you found on the lampposts in town.

The first person to reach her and Michael after the initial greeters weren't her parents, Kristy, Gavin, or Dr. Daly. No, it was her old friend Damaris, with Lacey settled on her hip. The poster was finished and given to Damaris shortly after their return from Raleigh, and her friend was so pleased with it, she hung it up in Lacey's nursery that day. . .while telling Megan about a cute school resource officer she met.

The school friends exchanged hugs, and Damaris promised a long conversation later. After a brief conversation that gave Megan the opportunity to hold Lacey and introduce Michael to Damaris, the mother and baby were on their way to the refreshment table. Then, the entire Farrell clan accosted Megan and Michael, Megan giggling as Mayor Farrell scooped her into a bear hug. Brendan whined a little that his father was embarrassing him, but as Megan was gently settled on her feet, she saw the youngster was actually grinning. Regine Farrell smiled gently as she drew Megan into her arms, pressing kisses to each cheek. She looked nice tonight, too. . .elegant.

As Megan and Michael walked (or wheeled) away, the detective caught sight of another familiar face. . .one she wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about seeing. Leonie Russell, another of the Grande Dames in town, who was part of Mrs. Meriweather's circle. _Oh, joy_. However, she pasted a smile on her face as the woman approached. Mrs. Russell blinked, looking in confusion from Megan to Michael and back again. Hmm. This was interesting. She sensed someone drawing close to her elbow, and heard Mrs. Farrell say, "Have you come to meet that unfortunate young man Megan was kind enough to take in, Leonie?" Ow. Laying on a bit thick, wasn't she?

Or. . .maybe not? The woman looked again at Michael and asked, "Why is he in a wheelchair?" Oooh boy. She _was_ shocked. . .usually, she at least tried to show good manners and politely greet whoever she was speaking with. As if recognizing her lack, the woman shook herself and said, "My apologies, Detective Rafferty. . .that was truly rude of me. But. . .is he ill?" _Well_, Megan thought wryly, _at least she's trying_. And she was extremely tight with Mrs. Meriweather, so she would probably report back to her.

"No, actually, he was critically injured. That's why Elena and I went to Raleigh. It appeared as though he was shot with a crossbow, with wounds to his chest, shoulder, and abdomen. Since the crossbow is stereotypically thought to be medieval, my younger sister thought we would be the best to ask. . .he was found outside the hospital where she volunteers," Megan replied. And because she was still in a somewhat cranky mood, she added, "We've been teaching him English when we can. He speaks another language entirely, and doesn't remember his name. We've been calling him 'Michael' because he reminded Elena of the warrior angel."

Mrs. Russell's mouth rounded into a rather nice 'o.' Megan knew she was terrible, but honestly, Mrs. Meriweather and her merry band of bitches were getting on her nerves. The other woman managed to say, "I see. So this rumor I've been hearing that you've been meeting him on the sly in Raleigh is. . ." **SAY WHAT??????** Megan felt her eyes almost bug out of her head. Was _that_ what that old biddy was saying? Right now, she wasn't sure if she should laugh, cry, scream, or throw the mother of all hissy fits.

"Quite incorrect," Mrs. Farrell said crispy, "and you should know better than to pay attention to such silly things! Megan and Elena haven't the time or the energy to be running to Raleigh on a constant basis, especially not poor Bethany's murder a few weeks ago!" She really was a terrible person, she _knew_ it wasn't very nice, but Megan could have smiled at the way Mrs. Russell blanched. _Kinda forgot about that, did you?_ True enough, it had taken the two friends a very short amount of time to catch Dalton Robeson, but that wasn't the point. The point was, she and Elena had a job to do, and to be vulgar, screwing a gorgeous amnesiac wasn't part of that job.

"No. . .no, I don't imagine so. Poor young man. . .should he even be out now?" was Mrs. Russell's next question. Mrs. Farrell drew alongside Megan and while the woman was looking at Michael sympathetically, Mrs. Farrell nudged Megan. The detective glanced at her grandmother's friend. . .and suppressed a grin as the Grande Dame winked at her. However, she immediately returned her attention to Mrs. Russell, who was fussing over the aforementioned amnesiac, and Megan had to bite back another smile.

Poor Michael wore a somewhat bemused expression, as he wasn't accustomed to the attention from someone he didn't know. Megan replied, "The doctor who took care of him in Raleigh is in town for a visit, and he cleared Michael to come to the Christmas festival for an hour or two, but we'll leave when he shows signs of fatigue. We compromised on an hour or two, since he tires easily."

"A wise move. It seems, Detective Rafferty, that quite a few people in this town owe you an apology. . . and the same is owed to this poor young man. I will see to _that_," Mrs. Russell declared imperiously. Then her face softened and she added, "In the meantime, do take care of this young man." She smiled at both Megan and Michael, before her eyes hardened and she swept off in the general direction of the Meriweathers. Megan blinked in bemusement. Huh. It looked like Mom was right about this Festival. Still. There was a very wicked part of her that wished she could be present for the coming confrontation!

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Business owners and real estate agents would say that 'it' is all about location, location, location. And in those particular situations, they were right. It wasn't just having a great house or a fantastically-executed idea for a business that determined success. . .it was their location. By the same token, much of life was about timing. Consider, for instance, the timing of a meeting. Two random individuals happen to be in the same place, at the same time, and their paths cross. . .but if one of them had been even five minutes later or earlier, the meeting may have never taken place. Upon such timing, relationships are built, plans are made, and the fortunes of nations are made or lost.

In some ways, this was terribly deep thinking for the Campbell Community Christmas Festival, but Dr. Lucius Wellington was in an introspective mood. It wasn't his intention to even come tonight. . .he had entirely too much paperwork to do, and the idea of coming into contact with the harpy set his teeth on edge. Unfortunately, he seemed utterly incapable of saying 'no' to his great-granddaughter, especially when she smiled at him. Somehow, through an evil trick of fate, she inherited her great-grandmother's smile. . .and Lucius could never say 'no' to his wife when she smiled, either.

So, he had put aside his paperwork and all the other work he had tonight, put aside his growing disgust with Dorcas Meriweather and equal contempt for her merry band of bitches (as he once heard Lydia Anders call them), and focused on Natalie's joy and Jason's quiet pleasure at seeing his little girl so happy. And that precious child looked so pretty tonight, with her long dark hair pulled back into a pony-tail, her dark eyes shining with happiness and pride at her pretty new dress. Not for the first time, he wished he and Natasha had a daughter, as well as a son. He wouldn't allow himself to think of Anthony tonight. Not when those memories were still so painful for him, even now, more than twenty years after his son's death.

And he was quickly distracted from thoughts of his son, first by the sight of Anthony's granddaughter happily batting around balloons with some of her little friends. . .and then by a growing confrontation between Leonie Russell (one of the more tolerable members of Dorcas Meriweather's circle) and the queen witch herself. It was quiet, but Leonie's fury was easy to see for anyone who knew the woman. Was it possible that she found out the real reason that boy was staying with Megan Rafferty? Lucius hoped so. As he said at the time, there was so much grief and hatred in the world. . .someone demonstrating compassion should be rewarded, instead of scorned (on the other hand, 'compassion' was beyond Dorcas Meriweather's comprehension, regardless of her 'good works.')

Lucius had another encounter with the queen witch the previous day during a meeting of the Campbell Chamber of Commerce, when she tried to 'persuade' him that he couldn't make the dog shelter work without her help. He laughed in her face and reminded her that he had been running the shelter since before she arrived in Campbell (which wasn't entirely true). She dropped any pretense at civility and had the nerve to threaten him. Regine Farrell quickly broke up the argument, later explaining that when she first arrived in Campbell, Dorcas felt 'slighted' by something Sayre McFarlane did or failed to do, and so now that she had ammunition against Sayre's granddaughter. . .she was using it. Or trying to. Of course, that only served to infuriate Lucius further.

For the last ten years, he had done his best to stay out of things that didn't concern him. However, the idea that a so-called slight on the part of Sayre (who had been very kind to his family from the moment his grandson arrived in this town) made Dorcas Meriweather think she was entitled to harass Sayre's granddaughter was enough to make him rethink his personal isolation. He didn't know if Sayre did, indeed, slight Dorcas deliberately, by accident, or if it was all in the troublemaker's head. However. She should have taken it up directly with Sayre. . .not waited until years after Sayre's death to attack her granddaughter. That proved she was a coward.

He smirked a little. She richly deserved the dressing-down she was receiving from Leonie, who hadn't liked Sayre, but had more class than to attack Sayre's family for her sins. He just wished he could have actually heard the argument. On the other hand, there were some things that were not meant for public consumption. One reason he utterly despised cell phones. . .he really wasn't interested in knowing the business of other people. Just as he wasn't interested in people knowing his business, either.

That was when he caught sight of the two men quietly talking, a short distance from the tongue-lashing Leonie was giving Dorcas. He frowned thoughtfully, studying the pair. He initially recognized one of the men as Gunnery Sergeant Gavin Rafferty, the cousin of the Rafferty girls. But he was far more than that. . .yes, far more. It was an overused cliché, to be sure, but it also happened to be true. As he stared at the familiar young man, Lucius Wellington's blood ran cold. This. . .was. . .not. . .happening. . .to. . .him!

That was really all he could think. He stared in shock and horror at the two men, one familiar and the other not. Why had he never seen it before? How could he have failed to recognize Aragorn? Yes, his appearance changed slightly in this lifetime, but the spirit shone through his eyes. Perhaps like Lucius himself, he didn't advertise his identity in that long-ago time. But what made his blood run cold was when the second man looked at him. . .and just as the man obviously recognized him, so too, did Lucius recognize him.

Oh, he didn't know his name in this time, but he still knew him. Standing at the side of Aragorn's reincarnation was the reincarnation of another member of the Nine Walkers. Gimli, Gloin's son. . .a much taller version of Gimli, but Gimli nonetheless. Aragorn and Gimli, men who had every reason in the world to hate him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, caught between his desire to demand they leave him and his family alone, and knowing that if he stayed out of their way, he would most likely get his wish. Unfortunately, it seemed as if his feet were listening to his emotions, rather than his logic center, for the retired professor found himself steaming toward the two men.

And as had been the case so often, his grandchild and great-grandchild were there to stop him from doing something stupid. As he drew closer to the two men, Natalie danced up to him and said, "Grandda, guess what, guess what, guess what?" She was dragging her father along behind her, Jason giving him a wry smile as they approached. Lucius gratefully directed all of his attention to the little girl, who bounced up and down as she continued, "Brendan asked me to dance!"

Brendan? The mayor's son? Now successfully distracted, Lucius looked at Jason with raised eyebrows. His grandson replied to the unasked question, "Remember, Grandfather, Natalie likes Brendan a lot. So when something was said about dancing around the Christmas tree, she was understandably thrilled that he asked her to be his partner." Ah, yes, Lucius had forgotten his great-granddaughter's crush on the college student. Though, how he could do that when she stared adoringly at him whenever they were in the same general area. . .

As if hearing her great-grandfather's thoughts, Natalie announced proudly, "I'm going to marry him when I'm grown up!" No doubt the young man in question would be surprised to hear that, and wasn't Natalie too young to be thinking such things? However, as Lucius lifted the little girl into his arms and exchanged a smile with her father, he reconsidered that. Maybe not. While she was a child, sometimes, childhood friendships could turn into mature love, as he knew from marrying his Natasha.

"Well, you may have at least one dance with Brendan, but I would like the pleasure of your company for a dance as well, my pretty one. What do you think, Jason. . .might you inscribe my name on your daughter's dance card?" Lucius asked, trying very hard to look solemn for the little girl. His grandson nearly ruined that with his broad grin, but Lucius managed to control his own laughter. Only in the back of his mind did he remember Gavin Rafferty and Gimli's reincarnation. . .but he would not confront them. There was no sense in borrowing trouble. He had enough of his own.

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Gavin Rafferty couldn't have said what was the bigger surprise. . .how Natalie Wellington so easily directed her great-grandfather's attention away from them; or his companion's statement just before Lucius Wellington headed in their direction. In fact, Gavin was wrong-footed so badly by his (Aragorn's) old friend's observation, he could only stare at Ronan in absolute shock. . .at least until the older man jibed, "You should close your mouth, laddie, before you invite all of the flies in. Nasty beasties, those are."

Gavin closed his mouth with a snap, still staring at Ronan in shock. It took another few seconds before he was finally able to ask, "How. . .who told you that?" And when Ronan simply smiled at him a bit smugly, Gavin could have kicked himself. He muttered, "I just did. Okay. Rephrase that. Aside from my reaction just now, what gave it away? 'Cause I know for a fact that it isn't common knowledge. In fact, I don't think anyone in town knows, aside from you, Francis, and me."

"That's one thing. In addition, Francis Rafferty is supposedly your uncle, but you never call him 'Uncle Francis,' nor do you call Ailsa Rafferty 'Aunt Ailsa.' True enough, that's not uncommon, but yours seems to be a close-knit family. Further, I've noticed that both you and Megan have certain mannerisms in common, mannerisms that Kristin doesn't have. And finally, you never refer to either young lady as your cousin, but rather by their respective given names. . .which I found even more odd," Ronan pointed out. Okay, all of that was true, but how did Ronan figure all of that out just tonight? On the other hand, did it really matter? Did it matter how he figured it out?

No. It didn't. He answered at last, "Francis had a lot of wild oats to sow; at least, that's what our grandfather told me when I asked about it. My birth mother was pretty and she was determined, and Francis was young and male and thought with his lower brain. She decided she wanted him and he didn't put up a fight at all. I don't imagine I need to go further with that?" Ronan shook his head with a wry smile, and Gavin continued, "What he didn't realize at the time was that she was, pardon the vulgarity, bat-shit crazy."

"You were given to your adoptive parents to protect you from her," Ronan guessed. Not entirely, but it was close enough. That situation was a little complex, and would take way too much time to fully explain. His birth mother was a crazy bitch (still was), and his parents raised him as far away from as they could manage. He wasn't entirely sure how they chose Virginia, but for most of his life, it turned out to be enough. And it was hardly their fault when his birth mother found him.

"Pretty much, yeah. Even in the late sixties, it still wasn't uncommon for a baby born out of wedlock to be given to another couple to raise. Her parents knew that she had no business raising a child, and given what she became, I guess they didn't think they had any business raising me, either. To make matters easier, my birth mother was incarcerated. So, I grew up in Virginia and when I was five, Francis met, married, and fell in love with Ailsa. With that relationship official, he settled here in Campbell, only three hours from where I grew up. Two years later, I have a little sister," Gavin explained. It was, in fact, shortly after his thirteenth birthday that he learned there was a reason he felt so close to his young cousin.

Ronan hadn't reacted and after a quick glance to make sure no one was overhearing who didn't need to hear, the retired Marine continued, "I gotta give Francis credit. . .he has always been low-key in what he wanted of me. More to the point, he has never really seemed to want anything from me, and he's always understood that. . .well, that he might have sired me, but Daniel Rafferty is my dad. My birth mother on the other hand. . ." Gavin shuddered, remembering his (blessedly) few encounters with her. They were both lucky to survive their last encounter, because she attacked his mother. . .and Gavin wasn't having any of that. He wasn't proud of it (on the other hand, he also wasn't ashamed), but he would have killed her if his mother had been hurt, even minor injuries.

"There was a reason why Daniel Rafferty raised you," Ronan observed and Gavin nodded. Yeah. A real good one. Her attack on his mother was bad enough, but if she went after either of his little sisters, he would not restrain himself. Megan was a cop, and she was quite capable of taking care of herself, but she was his little sister. Older siblings protected younger siblings. He looked after Megan to the best of his ability, just like Meg did with Kristin. And Kristin. . .she was his baby sister.

He knew that both Megan and Elena taught Kristin some self-defense, but that wasn't the point. The point was, you took care of family. And he still owed Megan for trying to take care of him when he was a know-it-all nineteen year old (like his son was now). You took care of family, which brought Gavin's attention back to the common thread. He said softly, "My birth mother aside. . .what do we do about Boromir? Once he learns to speak English, I mean. He was obviously brought forward in time for a reason. . .how do we help him achieve that purpose?"

Ronan smirked, reminding Gavin of the times in the past when he saw that smirk (when Aragorn saw that smirk). Usually, when they were about to do something unbelievably crazy. . . taking on the orcs outside Helm's Deep to buy Theoden and his men time came immediately to mind. However, his voice was gentle when he said, "We don't do anything, laddie. Boromir will find his own purpose here. . .our purpose, in turn, is to support him and to take care of him. That much I know. Well, that and the fact that Legolas and Haldir are in Vancouver."

"Legolas? Haldir? The last time any of Aragorn's reincarnations saw Legolas was during the First World War," Gavin said. Ronan merely smiled and the younger man observed with a sigh, "Let me guess. Legolas and whoever you were at that time met up at some point?" Now Ronan was grinning so broadly, Gavin half-expected his face to break. However, it remained firmly intact, and the retired Marine continued, "I know you're just bursting with excitement to tell me, so let's hear it."

"They met just after the American Civil War. . .oh, not in the United States, though Legolas had visited this country before, as did my predecessor, Evan Jones. In fact, he was a British observer of the Civil War. No, they met in Wales, where Legolas took the name 'Leslie Tudor.' It was a very nationalistic time in Wales, the old tongue was reclaimed, along with all vestiges of their heritage. All things Cymric were popular. . . that is their name for themselves, you know. Cymric refers to the culture and Cymru refers to the country itself," Ronan explained.

"I'm noting a pattern here," Gavin said dryly, and Ronan laughed aloud. On the other hand, he really didn't have a lot of room to talk. . .not when he himself was of Irish heritage, as was his previous incarnation, the grandfather of the current mayor (he convinced himself not to think about that too much, as it seriously freaked him out). Gavin continued, "So, Legolas and Haldir are in Vancouver, you and I are here, along with Saruman's reincarnation, Boromir, and a boy who is most likely Frodo's reincarnation. Gotta tell you, Ronan. . .that makes me uneasy."

"I have something that will make you even more uneasy, laddie. I've been in contact with Grima Wormtongue's reincarnation," Ronan answered. Gavin had to remind himself to keep his eyeballs in their sockets, as they were threatening to join his jaw on the ground. Grima. . .Wormtongue? Ultra creepy dude, greasy hair, long black fingernails, no eyebrows? That Grima? Ronan nodded and went on, "His name is Gabriel Wainwright, he's a first responder in Oklahoma."

Ooookay, there was an image that didn't want to form. . .until Aragorn's memory of the longing in Grima's eyes when Theoden made an offer to him, reaching a hand out to the traitor who had enslaved him. You can be one of us again, it's not too late! Gavin murmured, "What the hell, it was thirty thousand years ago. How long does a man have to pay for sins that weren't really his own?" Gabriel Wainwright was the reincarnation of Grima Wormtongue, not the man himself. . .just as Gavin wasn't Aragorn. Aragorn's failings and triumphs belonged to Aragorn. . .Gavin told himself that many times. Why shouldn't the same be true of Grima or Saruman's respective reincarnations?

_Of course_. Gavin opened his eyes and looked at Ronan, saying, "We have to tell him. No, not Gabriel Wainwright. . .I'm guessing you've already done that. I mean Lucius Wellington. . .we have to tell him that we won't act against him. That was why he was coming over to confront us when his great-granddaughter ran over. He has to know we mean him, and his family, no harm." Ronan nodded solemnly, and Gavin relaxed. While his little sister (and oh, it felt so good to acknowledge that to someone other than himself) was taking care of Boromir, there were things Gavin could do. . .and would do. . .to make things easier for her. This was a start.


	14. In Heav'n, The Bells Are Ringing

Author's Notes: Well, it took a little longer than I anticipated, but my Star Wars fic demanded two chapters in a row. The next chapter will be the last (aside from the epilogue), and I don't anticipate it taking more than a few weeks. I was laid off from my job almost three weeks ago, so I've been writing every chance I get, when I'm not looking for another job. Hope everyone enjoys the new chapter!

Chapter Thirteen

In Heav'n, the Bells are Ringing

She was running late. . .but that was true every year, especially after her nieces and nephews were born. Trying to get a gaggle of youngsters under the age of ten ready for the Christmas festival was akin to herding cats, and not something that any sane adult relished. Add to that a hormonal sister-in-law (pregnant with her second child) and a cousin who was hitting puberty (_Dios mio, kill me now_!), and you had the recipe for a migraine. Unless, of course, you were driving by yourself, with only your three year old niece for company. That little girl was enthroned in her car seat in the back.

On the other hand, that didn't take into account the various and sundry stops she had to make, including a quick-stop at the local Wal-Mart (the Christmas parties always ran out of fruit juice for the punch, plus Angela needed Pull-ups), a stop at one of the gas stations in town and hearing yet again that Dalton Robeson's lawyer would get him off (Elena would love to see him try), and hitting every. . .light. . .in. . .town. Elena wasn't someone who really believed in conspiracies, but for hitting every light in town when she was already running late, she might make an exception.

At last, however, she drew the small car into the parking lot surrounding the community center, the building ablaze with light. Elena smiled as she pulled into one of the few remaining parking spaces, listening as the little girl babbled away in a mixture of English, Spanish, and a third language probably made up. Angela was learning so quickly. . .a fact that made Elena both proud and terrified her out of her mind. There was nothing to do for it, of course. . .except figuring out how to teach Angela how to protect herself. (Although, first she would have to convince Angela's mother that such lessons would be beneficial to the little girl)

But she wouldn't worry about that tonight. Instead, as she cut the engine and slung her purse over her shoulder, she focused on having fun. Megan was already here with Michael, she knew, and the odds were good that the rest of the Rafferty family were as well, along with Ronan Daly. She paused, frowning a little as she lifted Angela from her car seat. Hmm. That was something of a cipher. While she welcomed the doctor's help, Elena was growing just a little. . . concerned over the way he was helping them. He was just a little too eager, she thought, but tabled that. She would have to talk to Megan, see what her partner thought.

A tiny hand on her face brought Elena's attention back to the child in her arms, and Angela scolded, "Tia think too much!" Elena laughed softly and kissed her niece's forehead. Yes, Tia Elena was thinking too much, the baby was right about that. She hugged Angela again and carried the child inside the community center. As ever, the inside of the building took her breath away. The center was, in fact, a renovated buggy factory, which was bought by the town in 1968 and rented out to various businesses over the next few years. During those years, it was often used as a warehouse.

Finally, Tom Farrell, then a college student, made an innocent remark (or maybe not so innocent) to his mother about how nice it would be for Campbell to have a community center. Regine took the suggestion to the other Grande Dames. . .and that was the beginning. Appropriately, it became a community project, as everyone in town worked on it when they had the chance. At last, in 1977, the community center opened. While Elena could remember _some_ things from when she was four, that wasn't among them.

Even so, there were other memories wrapped up in this building. Going to self-defense classes as a teenager, helping to decorate the community center for Homecoming when a minor disaster left the gym out of the question. There were other dances, as well. . .the Sweetheart's Dance each Valentine's Day, which was held for the entire town, though it was rare you saw anyone under the age of twenty. Most of the adults tapped the teenagers in town as babysitters on that particular night.

The community center also doubled as a shelter. . .fallout, tornado, or whatever. The old buggy factory had a rather large basement, and during Mayor Farrell's early weeks in office, he suggested using the old basement as a shelter. Elena shuddered. That was during those awful first weeks after September 11th, 2001, and seeking protection in case of additional terrorist attacks was on the minds of many in city government. Elena figured that was why the Council didn't fight him about the suggestion and in fact did everything they could to help. Elena and Megan helped to clean up the basement and set up cots and cabinets during their days off. It was one of five shelters in their little town.

But she didn't want to think about that right now. She wanted to think about having fun and spending a few hours with her best friend and her two families, just in case an emergency interrupted the party later on. As a cop (or firefighter, or emergency services tech), that was always a possibility. Her sister-in-law (Angela's mother, who was pregnant again) took Angela from her, behaving as if she hadn't seen her daughter in many years, rather than ninety minutes. D'oh. What-_ever_.

Painfully aware that she sounded like the cousin now going through puberty, Elena escaped from her sister-in-law and made her way over to Megan, now in desperate need of adult, sane conversation. (Maybe it could be argued that Megan wasn't entirely sane, but that was all right, because her brand of insanity was the same as Elena's). The other detective was deep in conversation with Damaris, with Lacey on her hip, and Michael was. . .nowhere in sight. Uhm. . .okay. . .

Before she had the chance to ask, however, her friend said, "He's with Kristin right now. Some of the Merry Band wanted a chance to fuss over him." The corners of her mouth quirked and Elena raised her eyebrows. She knew full well what, or rather, who the Merry Band was. She also knew that the aforementioned Merry Band was doing its damnedest to cause trouble for her, Megan, Kristin, and Michael. So why. . .? Megan went on, "I encountered Mrs. Russell while I was talking to Mrs. Farrell, and we re-educated the former as to Michael's status with us."

"Can you please translate that into a version of English which I can understand?" Elena requested as she leaned over to hug Damaris. Her friend was looking well, albeit tired, and she returned the embrace with equal strength. Megan laughed softly and Lacey cooed. The newcomer narrowed her eyes. That was _not_ playing fair, using a cute little baby as a shield. Not fair at all. It would occur to her, much later, that this should have clued her in that something was very wrong.

"Apparently, Mrs. Meriweather has been telling people false facts about my relationship with Michael. . .Mrs. Russell was under the impression that I was having trysts with him in Raleigh and that's why I was away so long," Megan replied with a perfectly straight face. Only her flashing eyes warned Elena just how angry her friend was. And after the words sunk into her brain, Elena felt her own fury spike. Megan smiled without any warmth and added, "Yeah. My thoughts exactly."

Which explained why Megan was holding Lacey. . .well, aside from the fact that she enjoyed holding her. It wasn't to protect her from Elena. . .but to protect Mrs. Meriweather and her little group from Megan. So long as Meg was holding the baby, she wouldn't forget that she was an officer of the law and thus, be tempted to go in search of Dorcas Meriweather. That would _not _be a meeting the older woman would enjoy. Megan smiled, again without humor, and said, "So. How has _your_ evening been so far?"

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There were times when she wondered how exactly she arrived at this point. There was a time, before her husband died, when she was well-respected and not (as the police captain put it in such a vulgar manner) among 'the merry band of bitches.' Worse than that, she respected herself, and that hurt even more. When did she, Leonie Russell, stop thinking for herself and started listening to a woman she didn't even like? Why did she reach out to Dorcas Meriweather. . .simply because neither of them liked Sayre McFarlane? Good heavens, that was a response worthy of her fourteen-year-old granddaughter, not a woman approaching eighty! And speaking of her youngest granddaughter, the child probably had a better idea of what was happening in town than she did!

And her granddaughter certainly wouldn't have tried to blow off Leonie's warning! Still fuming over the other woman's crass insistence that Sayre's granddaughter was guilty of everything Dorcas said she was (if not more), Leonie steamed away. She was angry with herself, she was angry with Dorcas, she was angry because of the entire situation. This was foolish! Sayre had been dead for years, and they were punishing her for. . .what? Why were they punishing a dead woman by attacking her granddaughter? What had she done which warranted such an attack? Leonie couldn't remember any more. . .which led her to believe she had been wrong all along.

"Leonie, where are you going?" an obviously exasperated voice demanded and Leonie stopped, spinning around to confront the newcomer. Instead, she found her daughter-in-law Justine and eldest granddaughter Clarissa, both staring at her in concern. A glance back in the direction where she was heading told her that she was heading for the exit. She returned her attention to the two younger women and smiled apologetically. Justine continued, growing angry, "Has that old bitch upset you again? If she has. . ."

Initially, Leonie thought she meant Dorcas. . .then she noticed how Justine was glowering at Regine Farrell. Leonie replied with a sigh, "No, honey, it wasn't Mrs. Farrell who upset me. . .it was Dorcas. I found out what's really going on with Megan Rafferty and her guest." Justine frowned, looking at the dark-haired detective, chatting with Elena and Damaris (and no doubt, noticing how furious both detectives looked), and Leonie explained, "You've no doubt noticed that the young man who is with her is in a wheelchair. I learned after talking to Detective Rafferty that he was badly injured. . . doesn't speak English and doesn't remember his name."

"Yeah, they went up to Raleigh after Beth was murdered. Kristin says that he was found outside the hospital where she was volunteering. They don't know anything about him, he had no place to go, and Megan and Elena decided to bring him back here. Megan was…well, a bit reluctant to bring him back here, but realized they were his best chance," offered twenty-year-old Clarissa. Her mother and grandmother both looked at her and she added a bit defensively, "What? I had some classes with Kristin in high school and while we weren't exactly close, we did and do talk. What, was that dried-up old witch saying that Megan was banging the guy?"

Although she cringed at the vulgarity of her granddaughter's speech, Leonie nodded and Justine blurted out, "WHAT? Oh, Leonie, please don't tell me you believed that!" Now it was Leonie's turn to get defensive, but Justine continued, "The police work twelve hour shifts, Leonie, you know that. Where she would have gotten the energy to drive to Raleigh and. . .and. . .and do the horizontal mambo with that man? I have reason to dislike Regine Farrell, but I'm grateful to her here. I don't appreciate Clarissa's language either, but she's right. . .Dorcas Meriweather is a dried-up old witch!"

"Believe me, I could have done worse. . .I could have told you what I really think of her," Clarissa muttered under her breath, ignoring her mother's one hundred watt glare. Leonie regarded her granddaughter affectionately. Yes, she had a tendency to be crass, but she was proud, independent, and fiercely loyal. She also had a habit of cutting straight to the heart of things, as she did when she added, "And you know, this little vendetta of yours against Mrs. Farrell is really getting bogus. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Mom, I know the story, she wouldn't let you date Mayor Farrell when you were teenagers, blah, blah, blah. So what, big freaking deal! There were a lot of boys you wouldn't let me date. Besides, that was like thirty-five years ago, you have Dad, and if things work out, Mayor Farrell will have Captain Anders. Y'all seriously need to get over this crap!"

Oh. That was why she had an issue with Sayre McFarlane. . .it wasn't with the woman at all, but with her best friend. Justine began, "Now, honey, it's a little more complicated than that." Leonie cringed, and shot a glare of her own at her daughter-in-law. It wasn't necessary, as Justine heard the condescension in her own voice (although Clarissa's expression also probably drove the point home to her). Justine started over, "There was more to it than that."

"Yeah. Mrs. Farrell married the man that your mother wanted to marry. Boo-freaking-hoo! Look, do me a favor. The next time you decide to lecture me about not letting a relationship with a boy interfere with other things, including potential friendships. . . don't. Y'all have no credibility," the girl retorted. Justine started to protest, but Leonie waved her daughter-in-law to silence, staring at Clarissa. The girl was right. How many times in the last seven years, since she started becoming interested in boys had they lectured her about just that? And yet, they were doing the exact same thing.

Unfortunately, the girl wasn't done yet. She glared at Leonie, adding, "And you should be grateful that Mrs. Farrell wouldn't let Mom date the mayor. . .you were the one who always says that you always hoped Mom and Dad would marry. Well, Mrs. Farrell made that possible." Also correct. But, in true Clarissa fashion, she saved the most devastating for last. She folded her arms over her chest and asked, "Did either of you ever ask why Mrs. Farrell didn't want Mom dating Mayor Farrell?"

"Actually, I can answer that, Miss Riss," came the uncomfortably familiar voice of their young mayor. As one, all three turned to face the unsmiling Tom Farrell. There was no doubt in Leonie's mind that he heard every word. She swallowed hard, especially when she saw the woman at his side, a very unhappy-looking Captain Anders. However, for the moment, both Justine and Leonie were ignored. His eyes softened as he looked at Clarissa, explaining, "It wasn't my mother who made the decision that I couldn't date your mama, it was my father. . .and the reason why I couldn't date her was because we were blood kin. Something you knew damn good and well, Justine. . .sorry, Miss Riss."

"You mean that you've been carrying a grudge against a woman for something she didn't even do for thirty years?" Captain Anders blurted out. She shook her head, muttering something very uncomplimentary under her breath. Leonie would have protested, but she was feeling rather stupid at the moment. It was about to get worse. During her entire time on the Dark Side (as Clarissa and her siblings would have termed it), she never really thought about the consequences of her choices. She was about to get a remedial crash course in the law of unintended consequences.

She was right. The blonde woman continued, "You know, it's a damn good thing that stupidity isn't illegal, because if it was, I would have your entire little circle arrested. Especially since that rumor that's been circulating about one of my detectives may have made her job harder. . .something she doesn't deserve. Not when she's put her life on the line for this town every damn day for the last ten years. Let me guess, Rafferty's grandmother tried to defend her best friend by telling you the truth and you didn't listen? And then you and the rest of the merry band of bitches decide to take it out on my detective, when _none_ of this has anything to do with her?"

Justine, bless her heart, began to protest. . .maybe in Leonie's defense, maybe in her own, but Captain Anders was having none of it. She snapped, "And you're just as bad! You _lied_ about what happened, and the queen bitch used it to try to destroy other women! Now, I don't particularly care about what happened before I got here. Jean, and Sayre before her, is more than capable of taking care of herself. But when your lies start interfering with my detective's ability to do her job, because certain people don't trust her any more, it damn well becomes my business, and that's exactly what has happened!"

"I think you're blowing this way out of proportion, Captain Anders. I've already talked to my mother-in-law about that silly rumor, and she understands it wasn't possible for Megan to be traveling to Raleigh to meet that young man on the sly," Justine said in what was clearly meant to be a conciliatory tone. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. The blonde captain's eyes became even colder, Tom Farrell slumped back against a nearby pillar, and Clarissa just sighed.

Before things could spin any further out of control, however, Regine Farrell said quietly, "Lydia, Tommy, don't ruin your evening, all right? This is the Christmas festival, and even if other people are incapable of simple charity, I know that you both are better than that. Clarissa, honey, you look lovely this evening." Captain Anders pursed her lips a moment, but nodded sharply. Tom pushed himself away from the pillar and put one arm around his mother and the other arm around the police captain. Once they left, Leonie could only echo her granddaughter's sigh. Really, when all was said and done, that could have gone much, much worse! She would worry about Justine's lie later.

BBBBBBBBBB

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who moved from Memphis, Tennessee to a small, rural town in North Carolina with her parents. On her first day at school, she met another little girl, who had lived there for her entire life and took to guiding her in her new home. The years passed and while they were never really best friends, they were always there for each other. Eventually, another girl was added to their small circle.

The three girls grew up and created new lives for themselves, but the little girl who came to Campbell nearly twenty-five years earlier always knew she could rely on the other two. It was as true in the waning months of 2005 as it was in 1981. She just wished she could say the same thing. It seemed that every time her two friends had a crisis of some kind, she was up to her hips in another situation. But this time, that would not be the case. Damaris heard about the rumors circulating about Megan (and, by proxy, Elena, since it was being said that she covered for Megan).

Most people in town put no stock in the rumors, but there were some who believed whatever they were told in every town, in every city. And there were some who just liked to gossip. Unfortunately, Damaris knew that Dorcas Meriweather fell into neither category. She knew she was lying, but if it hurt Miss Sayre through her granddaughter (never mind that Miss Sayre was dead now), she was happy. Damaris once asked her mother why she thought Mrs. Meriweather hated Miss Sayre so much. It took her mother a long time to answer, but when she did, Damaris sensed her mother was right.

Mrs. Meriweather, Mama had said, thought she would be _the_ lady of influence in town when she and her husband moved to Campbell. She held that position in her own hometown, so why wouldn't she in Campbell? Except, of course, it never occurred to her that the Grande Dames might already exist. She couldn't forgive Miss Sayre for taking what she saw as her rightful place. Damaris pointed out to her mother that it was Miss Sayre's place first, therefore, it was _her_ rightful place. Mama smiled sadly and replied that Mrs. Meriweather didn't see it that way.

Too bad for her. Tonight, Damaris was making it her mission to make her two old friends smile, and she had some serious firepower for that mission in the form of her little girl. As yet, she'd been unable to find even one person who could resist Lacey's charm. Besides, she knew that her friends wanted to know all about her new job, and she had stories galore to tell them. And maybe, she'd be able to find out what was going on with that gorgeous man, Michael. Oh, she knew a little, but she wanted to know more.

As it happened, Elena had nothing to add (she was still in shock from Megan's statements), so the third member of their little group smiled, still a bit tightly, and asked, "So, Damaris, tell us all about the new job." Lacey whimpered and Megan made soft, cooing noises at her, bouncing her on her hip. Damaris smiled softly, seeing her little girl calm down and make another attempt at grabbing a lock of Megan's hair. That was the second time she had tried to do that! However, this time, it was Elena who rescued her friend, carefully easing the hair from Lacey's tiny fingers.

"The new job. . .well, do you want the good news first or the bad?" Damaris inquired, remembering the many times while they were growing up when that phrase was used. She hid a smile. Though Lacey had been deprived of her new toy (Megan's hair), she found a new plaything in Meg's necklace. Not surprisingly, her baby girl was trying to put it in her mouth. Also not surprising was Meg's indulgent, slightly exasperated smile as she looked at the baby girl in her arms.

"The bad," Elena replied, shaking her head with no small amount of amusement, "definitely the bad, get it out of the way. That's what my brothers and sisters always tell their kids." And it was, as Damaris thought, their policy as kids when they were able to get together and talk for more than a few minutes. Damaris remembered more than a few lunch breaks with conversations that started in just that manner. 'Do you want the good news the first or the bad?'

"The bad. Okay, since I'm at the bottom of the pecking order, I get to handle what's not so affectionately called 'the whiner line.' And believe me, they call it that for good reason. The stories I could tell you. . .these people are crazy, you wouldn't believe how crazy!" Damaris began, then remembered to whom she was speaking. Megan and Elena exchanged a look, and the third member of the little group added a bit hastily, "On second thought. . ."

"Actually, 'Maris, you'd be surprised at the calls we get, so I think I can speak for Elena when I say that we can believe just about anything," Megan answered a bit ruefully, once more removing her necklace from Lacey's mouth. Elena nodded emphatically, and to prevent Lacey from squalling her little head off, gave the little girl something else to put in her mouth. . .a small, plastic baby doll, like the one you found in the various and sundry dollar stores around the area. Once Lacey was happily sticking the head of the doll in her mouth, Megan continued, "So that's the bad. What's the good?"

"Oh, honey, I haven't started telling you about the crazy!" Damaris retorted, shaking her head. Elena and Megan exchanged a look, and Damaris could just about hear what the two were thinking. About. . .the. . .crazy? Yeah, and it was a doozy, too. Truthfully, Damaris had been looking forward to sharing this story for weeks. She confirmed, "The crazy. One of the women who works with me at the castle. . .yes, even we call it that. . .anyhow, she wears a padawan braid. Yeah, like the one in the Star Wars prequels. I asked one of the other ladies, and she said it wasn't a carryover from Halloween. She wears it all year long! She started wearing it after _The Phantom Menace_ first came out!"

"Ooookay, I gotta admit, that does fall into the 'crazy category' rather neatly, though we need to tell you some of our stories one of these days. So we've got the crazy and the bad. . .what about the good?" Elena asked somewhat dryly. However, she was still working through that last little revelation. Damaris was glad she followed her instinct and didn't tell her two friends that the woman in question was probably old enough to be Ewan McGregor's mother. It would have blown both of their minds.

"The good? The good is a reasonably steady paycheck, being able to provide for my daughter. . .and don't think I've forgotten what the two of you did for me. I _will_ pay you back, that's a promise! Oh yeah, and I can't forget, spending time with adults. Well, grown-ups in body at least, the jury is still out on the maturity issue for some of 'em," Damaris replied. She noticed her friends look at each other when she mentioned the idea of repaying them for their help and added firmly, "I pay my debts. You know that."

That was the absolute least she owed them, even if they argued about it. However, neither commented on that. Which meant they would put their heads together later and figure out a way to distract her from the notion of repaying them. That was fine. Damaris could bide her time. Instead, she chose to redirect their attention to the other bit of information which was of interest to her. She asked, "That reminds me, Mom tells me that you're looking after a veteran, Meg. . .what's goin' on with that?"

"We're not sure if he's actually a veteran, although Gavin sure thinks so. His reactions to certain things, the fact that his first instinct seems to be for the protection of others. . .that's what has us thinking that he's a veteran or a protector of some kind. But I can't place his accent and his English is. . .in progress," Megan replied. She paused as Lacey settled against her sleepily, and then went on, "And speaking of Gavin, he's acting real weird. I've heard him talking to Michael, and Michael understands him perfectly well. . .but I don't recognize the language. I don't know. It's just weird."

Damaris couldn't help herself. She snorted and replied, "Meg. . .we're talking about Gavin here! Or. . .are you saying he's being weirder than usual?" Megan's expression gave her the answer. Weirder than normal, then. . .definitely weirder than normal. Damaris winced, observing, "Well, I guess Gavin will tell you what's going on, when he's ready to share. In the meantime, I have more stories, if you'd like to hear 'em?"

"Sure, they say misery loves company. I don't see why insanity should be any different, do you, 'Layna?" Megan replied dryly. Elena shook her head, and Damaris laughed, partly in amusement and partly in sympathy. Megan continued, "But first, catch us up on what went on while we were away? We kinda hit the ground running when we got back, and we're still not up to date. . .and the more we know, the better off everyone is."

"Now that would take forever!" Damaris retorted, making both of her friends laugh. She noted, however, that they glanced over to where Kristin now stood with Michael, that older doctor whom Kristin hugged earlier, and Gavin stood. They seemed fine to her, and with their minds at ease, they returned their attention to her. Damaris knew better than to think what she was about to share with her friends was gossip. Any bit of information could yield benefits down the road. What was it that her mom always said? Oh yeah. . .an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

BBBBBBBB

Ailsa Rafferty was _very_ pleased with the way the night had gone. Not only did the party go off without a hitch, but Dorcas Merriweather was shown to be the vindictive bitch she really was. Of course, it didn't hurt that Leonie Russell had learned the truth about that darling young man quite by accident. Actually, that helped almost as much as Captain Anders dressing down both Mrs. Russell and her annoying daughter-in-law after it was revealed that the reason for the long-standing feud between the Russells and her own family, as well as the Farrells. . .was based on a lie.

That was truly delicious. Ailsa wasn't interested in making nice with the Russells (although Clarissa was a sweet girl). They tried to impugn her little girl's reputation, tried to make her job a thousand times harder, and ended up with egg on their faces. As Mama would have said, if she had been her (God rest her soul), both Leonie and Justine really showed their asses. . .although, Justine made a bigger mess by lying about the reason she couldn't date Tom Farrell when they were teenagers.

She shouldn't gloat. She knew that. But after the lies she heard around town about why Michael was staying with Megan, after the way that selfish old biddy demeaned her children, her patience and charity had just about run out. This was the reason she kept pressuring Megan to bring Michael to the festival tonight. Watching the rest of the town avoid Dorcas after the truth came out was so worth the evil glare Ailsa received when she blew a mocking kiss to the other woman. Use her Megan to settle a decades-old score with Ailsa's mother? Not while there was still breath in her! No, that wasn't the behavior of a lady, but it was just like her own grandma always told her when she was growing up. After you had kids, you were a mama first, and a lady second. That was something which Ailsa had never forgotten.

"Now, darling, you really shouldn't pat yourself on the back too much. You might need that hand later on," Francis murmured to her. Ailsa merely smirked at her husband. She had both hands free, in case she needed to defend herself or someone else. Not that Ailsa fooled herself. . .she knew that when it came to protecting their girls, Francis was even more dangerous than Ailsa herself. The quiet ones were always the most dangerous. Francis continued, "Besides, I think Megan will be leaving shortly. . .Michael looks exhausted. They both do."

"Well, then, I think I should go over and rescue her. I do believe that's the third MBB who has apologized to her tonight. . .never mind that the apology wouldn't be necessary if they had just listened the first time," Ailsa replied. Francis started to speak, to warn her, no doubt, but she just smiled and blew him a kiss, adding, "Don't worry, don't worry, I'll be just as sweet as sugar. They'll get theirs later, when my girls won't get caught in the crossfire."

"Just. . .be careful, all right?" Francis said. He, much to her relief, didn't say anything about how Megan and Kristin were adults (or almost-adults). Ailsa knew perfectly well that her oldest daughter was quite capable of taking care of herself, even if she did forget to eat on occasion. However, right now, Megan's focus was on taking care of Michael. She was busy watching his back, so to speak, and as Megan's mother, it was Ailsa's job to watch Megan's back when Elena couldn't be there to do it. And right now, Elena was spending time with one of her nieces.

She glided over to her eldest daughter, saying, "Are you getting ready to head out, sweetheart? Poor Michael looks worn out." Megan turned to face her, mouthing, 'thank you!' Ailsa just winked at her baby girl, saying, "You drive careful going home, sweetheart, and get Gavin to help you get Michael into the car. He looks like he could use a rescue." The poor boy was fending off yet another woman who was wanting in his pants. No matter how many times Gavin told women that his primary concern was his son right now, there was always at least a few people who didn't take him seriously. Then again, he was his father's son, and quite a handsome young man. If she was what was nowadays called a 'cougar,' and went for younger men (and if he wasn't her husband's son), she might have made a play for him herself. But she was married, married to Gavin's birth father, and younger men really weren't her thing.

"I'll do that, Mama. We'll probably be at the house around seven thirty on Christmas, depending on what time I get off," Megan replied, reminding Ailsa of their plan for the entire family to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day together. Evidently, one of the other detectives would be working that day. Megan explained, "Rafe's wife is going to her parents for Christmas with the kids, and since they don't like him. . .to preserve the holiday, he's staying here."

Ailsa barely bit back her retort. She had met Rafe Santucci's in-laws and to say that she was less than impressed with them (bless their hearts) would have been something of an understatement. He might have been a little rough around the edges, but Ailsa would be thrilled if either of her girls brought someone like him home. (All right, so she would have been thrilled if either of her girls brought anyone home!) Well, she would just have to bake him something nice for Christmas then. She tucked a dark lock of hair behind Megan's ear, replying, "That's fine, honey. Give me a call on the 23rd, when you have a better idea of your schedule."

She kissed her daughter's cheek, then knelt before Michael. His English was coming along nicely (she still couldn't believe that Gavin was teaching him English by using _Miami Vice _and _Knight Rider_!), and he carefully enunciated, "Good night." She beamed at him proudly. Ailsa really couldn't wait until he was learning to read and write, there were books she wanted to loan him and Megan. She wondered briefly what kinds of books he'd like to read, then decided there was plenty of time to find out.

"Good night, sweet boy. I'll see you at Christmas," she replied, touching his face. Ailsa rose to her feet once more, and nodded to the MBB coolly, then kissed her daughter's forehead. She slowly and deliberately turned her back on the MBB and returned to her husband. Ailsa was aware of the MBB's eyes on her back, aware of the regret of the other. They had been friends once. That was over.


	15. And Good Will to Men

Author's Note: And aside from the epilogue (which will contain one last reveal about the reincarnations, as well as an updated cast list), we have another _Champions_ story completed! Yes, I'm already working on the epilogue. I do apologize for the delay, but Obi-Wan Kenobi and Boromir have had competition for my attention in the form of Dr. John Watson. I've been re-watching my DVD of _Sherlock Holmes_, and decided that the darling war veteran and doctor is my favorite character of the duo, though I love them both. In any event, I hope you enjoy the final chapter of _Champions: A Whole New World_. Coming in the weeks/months ahead? _Champions: An Ounce of Prevention_.

Chapter Fourteen

And Goodwill Toward Men

"Merry Christmas, see y'all the day after tomorrow!"

Megan was serenaded with a chorus of 'Merry Christmas,' 'have fun,' and 'Happy Holidays,' as she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed out of the precinct. Elena had already left for the night and was most likely over at her parents' house by now. Gavin was at her apartment, and as soon as she got home, the three of them. . .Gavin, Michael and Megan…would head over to the house where Megan grew up, where her parents and sister awaited them. Reese would join them either later this evening or in the morning. And that little brat better behave himself, if he knew what was good for him!

On the other hand, his attitude problem did have the effect of making her laugh when the pair ran into Dorcas Merriweather a few days after the Christmas Festival. Not shopping, but keeping Reese out of trouble while Gavin was handling some business. Her young cousin had a serious attitude problem, but he was a good-looking kid (when he wasn't sneering), and Mrs. Merriweather did like attractive young men. . .even if they were young enough to be her grandson. Reese, however, was _so_ not into older women. And by older, he meant Megan's age. If Megan was an older woman, then Mrs. Merriweather was a fossil. Moreover, he didn't hesitate to say so, in very. . .pungent terms.

She shouldn't laugh. She really shouldn't. And she didn't around Reese. However, once she reached the safety of her apartment, Megan collapsed into hysterical giggles. The look on Mrs. Merriweather's face was utterly priceless! Especially when Reese told her that he knew what she had tried to do to his cousin, and nobody was allowed to do that. A vile little brat he could be, but Reese was fiercely protective of his family. . .a trait he inherited from his father, and something that gave Megan the hope that he would be a good man when he finished growing up.

And as for Mrs. Merriweather. . .at least half of her little circle stopped speaking to the woman as a result of the bombshells dropped at the Christmas festival. Megan learned the following morning that not only did Mrs. Russell tell the rest of the circle the truth about Michael, but apparently her daughter-in-law Justine lied about the end of her relationship with Mayor Farrell when they were teenagers. It was news to Megan that they dated as teens, since Athelean was the only person she could ever remember being Mayor Farrell's girlfriend, but apparently Justine Russell was pre-Athelean.

Either way, the dust was still settling from that little debacle. Megan didn't much care one way or the other, as long as she didn't have to worry about questions that came out of it. So far, though, even those still loyal to Mrs. Merriweather had left her alone. She knew from conversations with both Elena and Gavin that even Dr. Wellington had defended her to Mrs. Merriweather and her loyalists. . .a man who made it clear that he wanted only to be left alone. According to Gavin, Dr. Wellington justified his involvement with the somewhat cryptic comment of, "There's so much pain and hatred in the world. . . someone demonstrating compassion should be applauded, not demeaned."

Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting. If she encountered him while she was around town, she would be sure to thank him in a proper way, a way that wouldn't embarrass him. She had to be careful about that, too. Her grandmother had liked and respected him, sometimes telling her girls that, "What he's seen and done, and had to do, has left terrible scars in his soul. A man like that, they heal in their own way. When he's ready, he'll let us know. He's like my Craig in that respect." _Well, Gran_, Megan thought wryly as she walked to her car, _you called it. Then again, I should have expected that._

So why didn't she? Megan could only conclude that it was because like most people, she focused on the troublemakers. Admittedly, it was her job, to focus on troublemakers and deal with the repercussions of their actions. However, she did spend some of her hours with people making sure trouble didn't start, such as her monthly visits to the children's home on the outskirts of town (which reminded her, she was slightly behind on those visits). Lucius Wellington, however, tended to keep to himself. It was something of a surprise to see him at the Christmas festival. And from what she heard, Mayor Farrell was still teasing Brendan about dancing with the good professor's little great-granddaughter, who had a huge crush on the college student.

It was even more of a surprise when Dr. Wellington nodded to her as she and Michael left. It was, now that she thought about it, more of a bowing of his head than a nod. Huh. That was odd. Gavin thought so as well, as he mentioned it the following morning. And her cousin was keeping something from her, something about Professor Wellington. Still, she put it out of her mind. If it was any of her concern (or if it affected the safety/well-being of the town), he would tell her. Regardless of his own feelings about the professor, or anything else, Gavin always protected others, whether those others were his family, his brother-in-arms in the Corps, or the country as a whole. Until she heard otherwise, she would continue to think the same of Professor Wellington as she always had. He was a man who preferred not to get involved, but would do so if it became important. Thus reassuring herself, Megan turned her attention to the next matter of importance. . .which was, in this case, getting herself home safely.

As she drove home, she mentally ticked off her list. All presents bought, wrapped, and ready to go. . .they were sitting in a canvas bag beside the door. It was what Megan often called her 'grab and go bag.' And in this case, it held the Christmas presents for her family. She actually had several 'grab and go bags,' used for a variety of things, including her emergency bag and the emergency bag she put together for Michael, especially as he grew stronger.

So. Presents were bought, wrapped and packed neatly in the grab and go bag. Her duffel bag was packed, and Gavin was supposed to pack one for himself and Michael while she was at work. Hopefully, he did that, and they could leave for her childhood home just as soon as she hit the bathroom. Firmly telling her inner voice to shut up (the one that was sniggering about making sure she didn't break the bathroom when she hit it, which sounded an awful lot like Gavin), Megan continued her mental checklist.

When she got home, she would double-check her mental checklist against the checklist she created before leaving for work. There was also the matter of double-checking the milk. Even though she would only be away from her apartment for one day, she wanted to make sure it didn't go to waste. Gavin was supposed to ask Mrs. Watkins about whether she wanted the milk, and if she didn't, it could still be divided between her other neighbors for their respective cats. Or, she could always give it to Cissie and her mother. But hopefully, she wouldn't have to deal with that at all.

It was driving past Piggly-Wiggly that reminded her. Oooh, she needed to call her mother when she got to her apartment, and make sure there was nothing that they needed to bring with them in the way of food! She seriously doubted it, as her mother generally bought enough food to feed a small army (and that was just for a dinner with the four of them), but just as soon as Megan started making assumptions, her mother would prove her wrong. Making assumptions was a bad idea with her family, just as much as it was with her career!

BBBBBBBB

So, today was Christmas Eve or Christmas for many of her Champions. The day meant little to Pelagia, but it meant a great deal to those whom she served. It was for that reason she always found a way to visit not just her own Champions, but those Champions belonging to her siblings as well. She always started off her visits with their first attempt to bring an ancient warrior into the modern world. His name was Karsten, and the change had driven the poor man insane. Pelagia took special care to ensure he didn't see her. He was finally starting to recover, and she didn't want him to backslide.

He was a handsome young man, Pelagia decided, with his strawberry-blond hair worn to the nape of his neck, and the well-groomed beard. He had been twenty-eight when he died on the battlefield and brought forward in time. . .not really a young man by the standards of the day, but not entirely old, either. The orderlies had taken to calling him 'Ben,' because he looked eerily like the young Obi-Wan Kenobi in the _Star Wars_ prequels. . .however, he was taller and broader.

Karsten would be fine. Pelagia could sense it. But for now, she would leave him alone to work on his project. . .a sketch for each of the orderlies. It would be his Christmas present to each of them, and Pelagia made enough of her silent visits to Karsten to know how fond the orderlies were of him. The sketches would be framed in many cases, and taped to walls in others, joining their predecessors. He was crazy, the orderlies told each other, but that didn't make him untalented. . .or stupid. With one last affectionate smile for the young man, Pelagia took her leave of him. . .

To reappear alongside an unknown coast, where a dark-haired man was resting after several stressful missions. It seemed a little odd, at least at first, that a man who spent his previous life commanding men now spent his days alone, but his desire made more sense upon further consideration. He had spent his first life being a commander, a leader of men. Like the other Champions, he was a protector at heart. . .but for now, he preferred to be left alone. Pelagia could understand that. On his own, he was better able to fulfill his task. . .at least for now.

She looked at the boat (ship) which Jamie Norris, once James Norrington, used to chase and apprehend pirates of now. It seemed innocuous, but looks were deceiving. It looked like a simple yacht, but had only slightly less firepower than an American Navy submarine, in the words of the man who helped him to outfit the yacht. This man was also a member of the family who looked after James when he first arrived in the current time. He just retired from the Navy, and had contacts within that branch of service. . .as well as other contacts, who found a 'pre-owned' luxury yacht for a good price. When James told him what he wanted to do with his second chance, the man did everything in his power to help, including the acquisition and refurbishing of this old yacht.

While it appeared to be a luxury yacht (more specifically, a 92' Hatteras Motor Yacht), its primary attributes were weapons, and storage for supplies. The few luxuries remaining were the bathroom and a fully stocked library of books published in the last three hundred years. Jamie had wanted to remove the spare stateroom, but his 'family' convinced him to leave it in, reminding him that he could use that for people he rescued. After some thought, he agreed that would be a prudent course of action. And with regards to the library. . .surprisingly enough, among the books published within the last fifty years, he chose popular books, rather than the critically-praised ones. According to Boadicca, he said the popular books gave a better view of the ordinary people at that time, things he needed to know. She wasn't sure she agreed, but. . . There were, of course, books on the yacht and the weapons, in the event something broke while he was out in the Atlantic Ocean by himself (which had been known to happen).

Captain Nicholas Rollins (USN retired) had taught Jamie the basics while the young man was recovering from the injuries of his previous life. What the captain didn't teach him, the rest of his family did. Pelagia smiled at the young man, currently reading in bed, and prepared to leave, when he said quietly, "You know, it's quite rude to appear on my yacht, without at least saying 'hello,' m'lady." He placed the book to one side, and looked at Pelagia. As ever, he wore no uniform. . .merely a pair of black sweats, a simple red tunic, and his feet were bare. That was unusual, or would have been if he was anywhere but his stateroom. Judging from his rumpled hair and the condition of the covers, he hadn't been awake for very long. No more than fifteen minutes, she would estimate, based on the way he was blinking at her somewhat blearily. She bit back a giggle. Only barely awake and he still sensed her. She would have to tease Boadicca about this. And how cute he was when he first woke up.

Instead of giggling, however, she instead chose to smile at him and answer, "I had forgotten you could sense us before we allow ourselves to be seen. . . something most of our Champions can't do. Perhaps your time in Davy Jones' locker is the reason for it." Jamie simply shrugged, though there was a touch of unease in his expression. It was, fortunately, something he didn't remember. . .and the absence of those memories made him uneasy. It was Boadicca's belief that his mind had shut out those memories to protect himself, and that was a very sensible explanation. Pelagia continued, "However, I do apologize, it was not my intention to be rude. I simply wanted to check on you, on your Holy Day."

"Ah. I see. Would it be considered impolite, my lady, to wish you a happy Christmas, even though you do not celebrate it?" Jamie asked, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and rising to his feet. Physically, he changed little from the mostly-delirious young man they rescued from Davy Jones' locker, with the assistance of his former rival Will Turner (and she wondered, not for the first time, if there was a blood tie between young Captain Turner and Legolas Thranduilion, given their remarkable physical resemblance. But that was a question for another day).

There were a few more scars, and a few more lines around his mouth, but otherwise, he looked like a healthy, strong young man. This last mission, as exhausting as it was, had done him good. Pelagia replied quietly, "Not impolite at all, for such a wish would be sincerely meant. Have you rested well? I have heard murmurings that your boat will be requested for a decoy mission." That was a large part of the missions James carried out, acting as a decoy or as part of a sting, luring in unsuspecting pirates.

"Well enough, I can do my duty," was the entirely-too predictable response. Pelagia merely folded her arms over her chest, and stared at the young man, employing what another Champion called her 'mommy posture.' James sighed and acknowledged, "However, I could use a few more days of rest. My second to last mission. . ." His voice trailed off, and Pelagia could see him struggling to maintain his control. Though James was a free agent, he often assisted the US Navy as thanks for their part in obtaining and re-fitting _The Governor's Daughter_. And the previous mission had been one of the most difficult he had carried out since his arrival in this time. Pelagia knew very little of what actually happened, but did know that the Champion had found the body of a child while assisting in the apprehension of the pirates. It was clear that the child had been tortured before dying, and the normally calm Jamie Norris had nearly killed the pirate who claimed responsibility. It had take three sailors to protect James from his own fury. And Pelagia knew he still had nightmares of that poor child.

"Take the time you need. Did Captain O'Malley not tell you so?" Pelagia urged and James smiled, just a little. If Nicholas Rollins was his 'father' in this new time, then Captain Grania O'Malley (named for the Irish pirate queen) was his 'mother.' Pelagia smiled back and said, "For now, I should go. I have other Champions I must see. This is how I spend your Holy Day, watching all of our Champions in their celebrations. And do not forget to call both of your mothers." Her reward was an exasperated look, but Pelagia slipped away before James could respond.

And so the day went, visiting Champions _from_ all times _in_ all times.

BBBBBBBB

He had been invited to the Rafferty family Christmas, and he chose to accept that invitation. Not just because it meant he would be able to spend time with Boromir and Aragorn's reincarnation, but also because this was Christmas and if you couldn't be with your family, being with a family for whom you cared was the next best thing. Thus, Ronan Daly was sitting in an armchair across from Francis Rafferty when Megan's car pulled in the driveway. Kristin, who was sitting on the floor, bounded up from her position and all but skipped over to the big bay window. Francis said a bit ruefully, "She always did that when Megan came home from college on her holidays."

"Ahh. Somethin' of a family tradition, then," Ronan observed wryly. Francis nodded with a smile, then returned his attention to the small object in his hand. He had been working on that since Ronan's arrival. It seemed as if he was carving an object of some kind. However, Ronan wouldn't ask what it was. . .or about its significance. It was none of his concern (even if he was highly curious). Besides, before he could ask, Kristin ran from the room and he would have been most surprised if there was someone in the house (maybe even the town) who _didn't _hear her squeal of delight as the front door opened.

"MEGAN!"

"Has she ever considered a career as a vocalist? She would do quite well in opera," Ronan observed in a conversational tone. Francis laughed outright, set his carving (?) to one side, and rose to his feet. Ronan joined him and the two men watched from the doorway in amusement as Kristin hugged the breath out of her older sister. Megan, to her credit, wasn't squirming (though Kristin's hold couldn't be comfortable), and was returning the hug with almost as much ferocity. Ronan just smiled at Boromir, settled in the wheelchair in front of Megan. Boromir returned the smile looking more rested and better than he had in recent days.

"Okay, that's enough, Kristin. . .you'll end up breaking your sister's ribs, and I know you don't want that. Besides, you saw her just a few days ago," Francis teased his younger daughter. _Besides_, Ronan thought, _there's still Gavin and Boromir_. Kristin released her sister, who was immediately scooped into her father's arms, and kissed Boromir's forehead before she launched herself at Gavin, arms _and_ legs wrapping around him. He, of course, was more than ready for her (although, admittedly, he _did_ stagger. Just a little bit). Ronan had to wonder how many times they had done this over the years. More times than either could recall, he was sure.

Megan greeted him with a smile, saying, "It's good to see you, Dr. Daly. Are you having second thoughts yet?" Kristin squeaked and made to hit her sister's shoulder, but Megan sidestepped neatly, cracking, "I wouldn't advise that. Remember what happened the last time you tried to hit me while you were hugging Gavin?" That happened before? Of course it did. . .and further proof came from the 'eep' he heard from Kristin. Ronan couldn't help but be curious. Noting his glance, Megan smiled a rather evil smile and waggled her fingers, as if she meant to tickle her younger sister. Older siblings, it seemed, were the same the world over. He would know, as he was one.

"Not at all, my dear girl, I was just reminded of m' own younger siblings, and thinkin' that older brothers and sisters are the same no matter where you are," Ronan answered with a smile. Francis Rafferty snorted at that, his eyes dancing. Yes. . .yes, older brothers and sisters were the same. He wasn't certain which Rafferty brother was older, whether it was Francis or the brother who raised Gavin, but either way, his theory held true. After a moment, he asked, "Now, is there anythin' in the car which needs to be brought inside the house, or do you have it all?"

"Between the three of us, we have everything," Megan said cheerfully, "I put what I could in the saddlebag behind Michael, he carried a few bags, and Gavin and I have the rest. If you wouldn't mind helping Michael, though, I can put the gifts under the tree." Ronan merely smiled and moved immediately to assist Boromir, who surrendered the bags without any complaint. However, as Ronan leaned forward to accept the bags, he noted worry in the familiar green eyes. He followed Boromir's gaze to Megan, who was heading into the family room, then returned his attention to Boromir. He hoped his expression reassured his friend that whatever was wrong, they would handle it together. It seemed the message was received, for Boromir relaxed.

Kristin drew their attention back to the situation at hand, saying, "Let me show you where Michael and Gavin will be sleeping. It used to be Mom's sewing room." Ronan had already been shown where he would be sleeping: the den that he and Francis just vacated. And. . .used to be her sewing room? That was more than a little odd. . .most women seemed to acquire a sewing room from a bedroom, rather than the other way around. He raised his eyebrows at this description. Kristin took the bag that Gavin handed to her, leading them back through the house, explaining, "She had a sewing room, up until our grandmother died, 'cause that's where they sewed together. But now, she does her needlepoint in the living room, and has her sewing machine in the bedroom."

Ah. He wasn't going to pretend to understand, because he didn't. Then again, it was rare that he did understand what was going through the mind of a woman. Francis added, "It's a combination of spare bedroom and safe room now." Safe room? Seeing his confusion, Francis explained, "It's the most interior room in the house, so we use it during tornado warnings and watches, if we have to take shelter."

"Megan doesn't like us using it, since it does have one window in it, but we have an old mattress that we put in front of the window after we tape it up. . . there's another mattress that we take shelter under," Kristin explained. It sounded reasonable to him. . .Megan's objection at least. No doubt, as a police officer, she knew a few things about safety during a tornado, but one thing he had noticed about the Rafferty home. . .it had neither a basement, or a closed-off hallway where they could take shelter during a storm. It seemed this was the best compromise.

"My offer to help buy a proper shelter still stands!" Megan called as the small group headed through the living room. She was, not surprisingly, kneeling in front of the Christmas tree, carefully placing each present. What was surprising was how she was doing it. Or maybe not so surprising. . .it looked as if all of the 'front' spaces were taken, and the tree was placed in a corner, so she was rocking forward on her knees to place presents in the back. This was germane, because Gavin gave a low whistle when she rocked forward. Megan turned her head just as Boromir punched Gavin in the arm. She smiled sweetly and said, "Thank you, Michael. That's just sick, Gavin, whistling at your cousin!" Sister, actually, which made it worse.

Boromir inclined his head to Megan, smiling, and then glared at Gavin, who was actually pouting. Ronan had known, of course, that the man was the reincarnation of Aragorn, rather than the man himself. However, that pout was what clinched it for Ronan. To the best of his knowledge, Aragorn had never sulked, much less pouted. Of course, he would have to speak to Arwen (or the pointy-eared menace), but he would have to find her first. Kristin added, walking backward through the house, "Stick out that lip any further, Gavin, and you'll end up tripping over it." Much to the doctor's relief, she turned back around and continued into the temporary room.

It wasn't a large room, as such, but nor was it small. The one window in the room wasn't a window to the outside, he discovered, but rather to an enclosed porch. Kristin placed one of the bags on a bed (an actual bed, as opposed to an air mattress), saying, "The back porch is mainly for storage, although Megan and Elena used to have sleepovers back there when they were kids. Don't even try that face on me, Gavin, you're not the one recovering from life-threatening injuries."

More like life-ending injuries, though Ronan wasn't about to say that. A glance at Gavin told him that the retired Marine was thinking the same way. Still, he pouted a little more, even as he settled his own bags next to the air mattress where he would be sleeping. Besides, Ronan was quite certain that Gavin had slept in worse places. Megan evidently agreed, for she appeared in the doorway behind them, saying, "You have a roof over your head this time, Gavin dear, and a soft mattress."

"You are _not_ a nice person," Gavin haughtily informed his younger sister, and she just grinned merrily at him. There was still a shadow in her eyes, no doubt from the aftermath of that terrible explosion, as well as that young girl's murder before they left Campbell, but she looked more relaxed and rested than she had since Ronan first arrived in Campbell. Gavin just sighed and asked Ronan, "Now do you see what I have to put up with?" The doctor only laughed. From what he could see, Gavin gave as good as he got!

BBBBBBBB

It wasn't uncommon for the Rafferty family to have guests at Christmas. Usually, it was in the form of Francis Rafferty's family from Canada and his brother from Virginia, before they moved to Campbell themselves. However, this year proved to be the exception for a variety of reasons. It was a little odd, not having Uncle Daniel and Aunt Naomi's RV sitting out in the driveway, with various aunts, uncles and cousins sleeping in the den, the old sewing room, the enclosed back porch, and various sites around the house.

It was. . .nice. She and Mom only had to make one bed and set up two. They still weren't sure if Reese was spending the night, or if he was coming in the morning. Not that it mattered. . .he could sleep on the sofa. Kristin missed her extended family, of course, but she didn't miss the extra work, the cacophony of sound that went with it, or finding herself at the children's table because there wasn't room at the adults' table. She was twenty years old, for the love of Mike, hardly a child! Megan was sympathetic, as she found herself in the exact same situation in years passed. Kristin opted not to remind her that the reason for that wasn't because there wasn't enough room at the adults' table, but because Kristin wanted her at the kids' table.

Either way, it wasn't something they needed to worry about this year. This year, unless something truly unexpected (which was a possibility), it was just the four of them, plus Gavin, Reese, Ronan, and Michael. Four extra people, rather than the customary twenty. Although, if Reese made trouble like he so often did, she would shove her foot up his rear end so far, it would come out his mouth! Her parents didn't need it, Megan didn't need it, and Michael sure as hell didn't need it! She had never met anyone with such a huge entitlement complex!

Kristin took a moment to compose herself, because thinking about her annoying second cousin or first cousin twice removed or whatever the hell he was, was always enough to annoy her. Once she was calm enough, she turned her attention to the next matter: the food. Even though there would be, at most, eight of them, her mother had made enough food to feed a small army. No worries there. Whatever they didn't eat, Kristin would take back to school with her. And whatever she couldn't/wouldn't take back with her would be send home with Megan and Michael. Maybe Gavin.

Of course, the troublemakers in the MBB would complain that they weren't giving the leftovers to charity, but. . .their dad always said that charity began at home, and to take care of your family before you tried to take care of anyone else. That way, no one else had to take care of your family. It made sense to Kristin. Besides, who cared about what those old biddies thought, especially after they tried to hurt her sister? All of them could apologize as much as they liked. She might forgive them, but she would never forget, and she would never trust any of them again.

After Michael, Dr. Daly, and Gavin were settled, the next order of business was dinner. This would be informal. . .pizza ordered in and eaten in the living room, allowing everyone to admire the work which Kristin and her mother did in decorating the tree. Mom had already made the call, right before Megan and Gavin arrived with Michael, so only moments after the beds were set up, the doorbell rang. Gavin took care of paying for the pizza, while Megan, Kristin, and their mother put together the paper plates. Within five minutes, they were all sitting in chairs or on the floor in the living room, happily eating pizza the day before Christmas.

Well. . .all except for Michael, who eyed the pizza somewhat wistfully, but manfully ate a half-foot sub instead. Megan told Kristin what happened the last time Michael ate pizza and while he had improved since then, none of them wanted him getting sick again. So, no pizza for a few more months. According to Gavin, he did like the pizza. . .the consequences, not so much. It seemed Kristin wasn't the only one who understood, because Megan turned to look up at him and smiled sympathetically. She patted his knee reassuringly, and then returned her attention to devouring her slice of pepperoni pizza.

The television set remained off, as they never watched the news while eating. They wanted to enjoy their food, which wasn't always possible when watching the evening news. Instead, they listened to Tchaikovsky Nutcracker Suite. That might be followed by Mannheim Steamroller (or, if Megan and Kristin could talk their parents into it, maybe even Trans-Siberian Orchestra) for background music while each of them opened one present. Maybe two if curiosity won out over bedtime.

And so they ate their pizza, and talked. Megan never talked about work on Christmas Eve. She wouldn't talk about the busts she and Elena made, or the people she had to comfort, or the pets she had to rescue. Sometimes, she talked about conversations she had with other people that might interest the family, or a book she was reading, or even remind them of past Christmas Eves, when both girls were very young and Kristin would sit in Megan's lap during dinner and present-opening. Tonight, she reminded them all of Kristin's first Christmas with the Rafferty when she was hardly more than a baby. And of course, Kristin hung on every word, because she didn't remember that.

There was nothing Michael could share with them, as he was still learning English, so he simply sat in his wheelchair and listened to the music more than anything. He was very tired, she could tell. They all were, and she doubted if they would open more than one gift tonight. That was all right, though. That made the anticipation all the better for the following morning.

Dr. Daly told them about growing up in Ireland, and Gavin chimed in with Christmas Eves spent with his brother Marines around the world over the years. Megan was so intrigued by this particular conversation, she didn't even resist when their mother gently tugged her plate out of her hand to start the clean up. Nor did she resist when Mom told her to stay put, and rest. Of course, that was probably because she was tired, in addition to being fascinated by the conversation. Megan usually helped with the clean-up even when she was tired. That was why Kristin didn't mind going in her place.

By the time they returned to the living room, Dad was passing out presents, placing a small, soft-looking package in Michael's hands, and a rather large, bulky-looking box in Megan's lap. Her older sister's expression was somewhere between gleeful and a grimace, as if she suspected what was in the box, but was afraid to be wrong. For his own part, Michael looked intrigued, if a bit confused. Dad put a package in Gavin's lap, another one where their mother had been sitting, scooted one over to Kristin, then pulled one out for himself.

Their mother followed a few minutes later and sat down in front of her own box, observing, "Well, then, the pizza has been put away, the box has been put in the trash, along with the paper plates. Is everything passed out? Wonderful. . .so, shall we do this by birth order?" Kristin kept her face carefully neutral, and their mother continued, "Or maybe the guests first." Megan laughed softly at that, her eyes twinkling, and their mother sighed, "Oh, all right, we open our presents by birth order in reverse."

"Or, better yet, we do it all at the same time," Dad suggested, and this time, Kristin had to grin. It always went like this. . .on Christmas Eve, at least. The following day, when everyone was up and gathered in front of the tree, they would make the decision in which order they would open their gifts. Sometimes it was in birth order, other times it was birth order reversed, and still others, it was completely random. According to family legend, there was even one year when it was done alphabetically, but that was either when Kristin was too young to be aware or before her adoption.

"All at the same time works for me. Shall we do it on a count of three, then?" Megan suggested. This met with the approval of all, and Dad counted off the digits. Before he even finished with 'three,' Gavin was tearing into his gift as if he was the same age as Elena's youngest niece. Megan exchanged a resigned glance with Dad and said, "He always has had a hard time counting." Gavin responded by throwing the torn-off wrapping paper at her, and Megan threw the paper missile back as Gavin finished tearing the paper from his gift, which was. . .

Erm. . .a cup? Mug? Kristin frowned thoughtfully, but Gavin's eyes lit up as he breathed, "A beer stein? Meg. . .how?" A beer stein? What the hell was a beer stein? Since it was obvious Megan wasn't about to answer Gavin's question, he answered the question that Kristin hadn't asked, "It's a beer stein. You were listening when I mentioned the collection I lost when I moved back, weren't you, Meg?" Her sister just smiled, in a manner best described as 'evil.'

"Of course I was listening, Gavin, you'd be surprised by what I listen to and what I hear. Kris, a beer stein is from Germany. Gavin started collecting them while he was in Europe the last time. The box containing his original collection has been missing ever since he moved to Campbell, so I've been looking for the last year and a half to help him start a new one. And it wasn't easy, I'll have you know. . .I finally found one when I went to the indoor flea market last month before. . ."

Before Bethany's murder. There was a brief silence in the room as Megan's lips thinned. Gavin didn't say anything at first, then walked on his knees over to her sister and kissed her forehead, whispering, "Thank you." She smiled wanly, and after Gavin kissed her forehead again, he said something to Michael, which prompted their unexpected guest to finish opening his parcel. Kristin couldn't help but smile at his wide eyes as he examined the DVD set of _Knight Rider_'s first season she had gotten for him. Gavin said something in that strange language that sounded like English, but wasn't. Michael's eyes lit up and he smiled at Kristin.

Enunciating carefully, he said, "Thank you, Kristin." She beamed at him, so proud of the progress he had made in the last few weeks. Before too much longer, he would be able to carry on actual conversations with all of them. Especially when Megan finished unwrapping her gift (honestly, what was the fun in that? Half the fun of getting gifts was ripping off the paper), and saw what was inside the huge box. Kristin looked over at their mother, who beamed happily. They both knew she had wanted this for some time. It had taken the four of them to buy what they wanted for her, but the payoff was decorating her sister's face.

"We knew you'd been wanting a laptop for a while, sweetheart. And if you'll look inside the box, there's something else that will help you with your new responsibility," their mother said, glancing at Michael. Kristin winced a little, but knew their mother meant well. Especially when she saw the 'something else' Ailsa Rafferty mentioned: a software program that was designed to teach children how to read, but would help with Michael's English lessons. Their mother explained, "A contact of mine at the State Library told me that it was available, after I asked about English language software."

"Thank you. . .thank you so much," Meg breathed, hugging the boxed-up laptop to her chest. As usual, everyone had stopped to check out the most recent opening. Kristin's older sister flashed a grin and said, "Open! Open the rest of your gifts!" Everyone laughed and did just that. But Kristin was still looking at the laptop. How odd, when she thought about it. The gift in her sister's arms was as much for Michael as it was for Megan. Hmm.

On the other hand, seeing her sister's gleeful expression as Dad opened his gift from her, maybe not so odd. As she got older, Kristin was coming to realize that the best part of Christmas for her wasn't so much seeing what other people got for her, but seeing their reaction to what she bought for them. That, more and more, was the most enjoyable part of Christmas for her. Kristin laughed a little as Mom wound up the gift from Uncle Daniel and Aunt Naomi, a music box that played 'I Heard The Bells on Christmas Day.'

It had been many years since she heard the words to the old Christmas carol (one of her sister's choral concerts in high school was what stuck in her mind), but there was a line which said, 'peace on earth, and good will to men.' Today was Christmas Day somewhere. . .and yes, it applied to more than just Christmas Day. Tomorrow, they would open more gifts and remember more Christmases past, and attend Mass at St. Stephen's, where their parents were married, and the sisters were baptized and confirmed.

But for tonight. . .for tonight, she would simply enjoy being with the parents who had chosen her, the sister she adored, the cousin who was more like an older brother, and two wonderful new friends. She smiled as her mother rewound Aunt Naomi's gift again and the melody played out. Peace on earth and goodwill to men. . .even to useless busybodies like Dorcas Merriweather and her cronies.


	16. Epilogue

Author's Note: Oh my word. . .after three years, this story is now complete! As promised, a cast list follows of everyone who either didn't have an actor/actress at the end of _Champions: Out of the Past _or appeared for the first time in this story. As ever, if someone else popped into your head for that particular character, feel free to ignore the list. There is also a list of the revealed reincarnations, because I've received a few requests for a cheat sheet. All of them should be on there, but if I missed any, feel free to say so. See you soon-ish with _Champions: An Ounce of Prevention_, and I hope you enjoyed this story!

A Whole New World

Epilogue

Once her 'rounds' were completed, Pelagia manifested herself in British Columbia, where Legolas and Haldir were celebrating, this year with Gabriel Wainwright. The former Grima Wormtongue had no family, and his bosses forced him to take the week off. Pelagia shook her head. He wasn't officially a Champion, but he certainly behaved like one on occasion, including his tendency toward overworking! She shuddered to think of what things would be like if she put him in a room with Ronan Daly, Megan and Kristin Rafferty, and Elena Gutierrez. An effort would be made, but they would end up talking shop, especially considering how entwined their respective professions were.

Right now, however, he wasn't working at all. Instead, after learning of his former enemy's situation, Prince Greenleaf arranged for transportation. . .a flight from Oklahoma to Los Angeles, and then a private car on Greenleaf's personal railway from Los Angeles to Vancouver. And to his credit, Gabriel needed only a short time to think it over. He had just enough time to buy gifts for Legolas and Haldir, pack, and then he was on his way to British Columbia. Fortunately, he kept his passport up-to-date. And now, he was sitting opposite Legolas, relaying an incident that happened two days past, when his immediate supervisor's youngest daughter came into the department building. It was the most relaxed she had seen any of the three. Gabriel was reclining on the floor beside the fireplace, his glass of wine currently settled on the bricks in front of the fire while he told his story. That was another similarity between her Champions and this man. They all found it hard to tell a story, to speak, _without_ using their hands.

But they all looked happy, relaxed, and rested. Pelagia knew from watching over them all that Gabriel slept during most of the flight, and then eagerly watched the passing scenery from his car on the train. Greenleaf's human employees had been informed of Mr. Wainwright's favorite foods, making the journey even more pleasant for the EMT. It wouldn't surprise Pelagia at all if Legolas handpicked the crew for Gabriel's journey. She was not certain, because she was paying attention to five other things at the time, and she trusted Legolas to do right by his friend.

Gabriel had finished his story about his supervisor's daughter, and launched into a new story, this time about his flight from Oklahoma to Los Angeles. He had been in the City of Angels once before, about thirty years previous, and admitted that he was grateful he would be there a short time. Los Angeles wasn't for everyone, and Gabriel freely admitted that he was more of a small-town boy. He actually sounded quite proud of that fact, not that Legolas or Haldir argued. Then again, they most likely wouldn't. Neither of them were overfond of cities, even the cities of old.

And for the second time that day, someone sensed her presence. However, at least this time it was a First-born. Legolas cleared his throat and said, "If you gentleman will pardon me, I believe Gabriel is almost out of wine." With a laugh, the Oklahoman passed the glass over to the prince and Haldir copied the action. Legolas glared at the former Guard, but Haldir just smiled at him innocently. Pelagia couldn't argue, since Legolas was up already. Knowing these two as she did, there was no doubt in Pelagia's mind that Legolas would find a way to pay him back. He always did.

That would come later. For now, Legolas carried the two wineglasses into the kitchen and before he even began pouring the wine, he observed, "You know, you could introduce yourself to Gabriel. He already remembers his past as Grima Wormtongue, and it would hardly shock him to meet you." Pelagia thought that one through, but slowly shook her head. It wasn't so much that she couldn't show herself to mortals who weren't chosen as Champions or champions, but. . .

It wasn't the right time, and she said so, explaining, "This is the symbolic day of his Savior's birth, and I do not know if his faith is strong enough to accept my existence. Among our Champions, I have been called many things, from goddess to demi-goddess to angel. And I have no idea if he is ready to have his faith challenged in such a direct manner. It is easier with you, and Haldir, and Boromir before I wiped his memories away. But Gabriel? He is not yet ready."

Legolas was silent for several moments, staring at her thoughtfully. At last, he replied, "Perhaps not. But his faith has already been shaken, first by the destruction of the Alfred Murrah Building in 1995, and then again by the attacks against New York City and Washington DC in 2001. He is a stronger man than you might imagine. He has had to be, in order to do the work he does, and to remember the deeds of his previous life. But I will respect your decision." Pelagia inclined her head in thanks, and Legolas asked softly, "Might I ask. . .has that happened before?"

"It has, little Greenleaf. And there is a difference between seeing atrocities such as you've described and encountering someone such as myself. Think about it, Legolas. I have the power to remove a man's physical form from one time and put it in another. I, and my brothers and sisters, have the ability to reunite a person's fea with their body. By the concepts of most people, I am a goddess. There is a large difference between seeing the evil that men can do and encountering a goddess, even though that is not exactly what I am," Pelagia explained. She didn't tell him that she was worried about revealing herself to her Campbell Champions, especially the Rafferty girls.

"As you say," Legolas answered graciously, and Pelagia smiled at him gratefully. He disagreed with her, she knew, but he would accept her answer. At least for now. Legolas continued after a moment, "Well, since I cannot convince you to stay and have a glass of wine, I shall bid you a happy Midwinter Festival. I trust you've seen to Boromir?" She had, indeed, and wished she could tell his friend about what she had seen while looking after her Champions in Campbell. But Haldir and Gabriel were waiting for him.

"I have. . .and perhaps once Gabriel Wainwright is asleep, I'll return and tell you what you wish to know," she replied. He inclined his head and Pelagia smiled softly at him. She closed her eyes, and wished herself home.

BBBBBBBB

Everyone was in bed. . .everyone except him. The young man called 'Michael' was the first to nod off. On the other hand, they made it through the entire _Nutcracker Suite_, two Mannheim Steamroller CD's, and were working their way through a Trans-Siberian Orchestra before the poor boy finally gave up. Megan and Gavin wheeled him into the spare room, each taking care to avoid jostling his injuries and avoid waking him. If he awoke, Francis never heard about it.

Gavin gave up a short time later, and told everyone 'good night,' punctuating his words with kisses to Megan and Kristin's foreheads. The girls were the next to go to bed, sleepily exchanging hugs with those remaining. Megan padded back into the spare room. . .she evidently left something in her old room which should have gone with the boys. She emerged from the room a short time later, giggling like a teenage girl, which made Francis smile in turn, even as he kissed Ailsa good night and promised to join her shortly.

It was so good to see his children not just loving each other, but liking each other. Whatever he might think of Francis, Gavin loved his two sisters desperately. Francis had accepted his son's ambivalent feelings for him. He couldn't blame the boy, especially not after Marcella finished with him. Francis wouldn't have cared as much if she had come after him. . .his ladies were out of town that summer, and Marcella couldn't hurt any of them. However, she had hurt his son, their son. . .

No. He would not think of that now. For now, she was safely behind bars, she couldn't hurt Gavin or anyone else, and he would do whatever he had to do to make sure she stayed there. He still had family in the area, and they would let him know if the situation changed. He shuddered and forcefully drew his mind away from his old nightmare. To distract himself, Francis thought about the events of the evening after they finished opening their one gift for the night.

His own gift had been from Kristin. . .she had been talking to either Gavin or Megan (or, just as likely, her mother), because he was quite sure she wasn't around when he waxed nostalgically about the old series _Victory at Sea_. Nonetheless, when he opened his gift from his youngest child, that was what he found. . .the first season of _Victory at Sea_, which he watched with his father as a boy. He kissed his youngest on the cheek, which in turn was enough to make her beam with pleasure. Francis made sure to throw the wrapping in the trash bag (which seemed like a waste to him, but he was making the assumption that it was trash. One didn't assume with Ailsa or Kristin).

Ronan Daly (whom he was quite sure was a reincarnation, just like Francis himself was) was smiling quietly at the gift from Elly Trask. According to Gavin, after Megan left the Christmas festival with her wheelchair-bound friend, Elly struck up a conversation with the visiting doctor, and it seemed as if the seeds of a budding friendship had been sown. Nestled in the doctor's rather large hand was a box of tea. . .his favorite tea, according to Kristin. Maybe he had been having a hard time finding it in Campbell, because he certainly looked very happy with his gift. Or maybe it was just Elly's thoughtfulness.

Kristin was the only person remaining who hadn't opened her gift as of yet at that point (strange, considering she was usually the first one done). He chose for her a gift sent from his father, having a pretty good idea of what was in the package (and judging from the half-finished unwrapping job, he was right). Oh yes. There it was. A teddy bear, dressed in the uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Kristin's resulting squeal was loud enough to make even their poor guest (the younger of the two) wince. Dr. Daly had a point about Kristin having a future in opera. It wouldn't surprise Francis at all if his baby girl took her new teddy bear back to college with her.

That was several hours earlier. Now, he was the only one still awake, staring into the night. He remembered what his son said a few days earlier, that something bad was coming. Francis agreed. He wasn't sure what it was, or if there was anything that could be done by him, maybe not even by his children. But he felt it. And the last time he felt this slow-creeping dread was thirty thousand years earlier, during his first lifetime. He closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to confront the horrors of that time, not just yet.

Instead, he called to mind the events of previous weeks, when he and Ailsa entered the baggage claim at RDU, Gavin behind them assisting a young mother, to find their girls and the amnesiac waiting for them. He thought about that shock of recognition when he saw the familiar features, dark gold hair, and green eyes. . .which held no recognition for him. His daughter knew something was going on. Francis had seen it in her eyes, as she would look at Gavin and the young man they had named 'Michael' with concern. Not calculating, no. . . measuring. Yes. Megan's expression could best be described as measuring. She was too good a cop not to notice Gavin's conversations with her new roommate in Sindarin (and sometimes in Westron, he noticed).

But as yet, she hadn't said anything about it. Maybe she wouldn't. Sometimes, his Meggie would wait for others to tell her things. He didn't know if it was because that was just how she was wired, if it was due to her training as a cop. He smiled faintly. She always told him that part of being a cop was prevention, heading things off at the pass before they could become a problem. _An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, Daddy_, she told him once, _just like Gran always used to say_.

Yes. Except that wasn't always possible, nor was it always possible to blunt the troubles which came along, and then all you could do was pick up the pieces. It sometimes seemed to Francis that his family did that a lot. . .picked up the pieces of the mistakes of others, starting with his late father-in-law. Craig McFarlane had gone to war, just as Gavin had, and Francis wondered if his parents had felt that odd mixture of mind-numbing terror and overwhelming pride that he felt for his own children. He rather thought so. He thought this emotion was something that never really changed in parents, as he certainly remembered feeling like this during his life in the Third Age.

Then, as now, he had children who fought to protect others. And then, as now, his stupidity had nearly ended the life of one of his children. Oh, his mistakes were of a smaller magnitude this time around, but they were no less foolish. It was merely that his mistakes impacted fewer people. That certainly didn't make things right. So far, his two daughters still didn't know Gavin was their brother, much less than they had an older sister out there somewhere.

It was because of that other daughter that Francis stumbled into the room where the boys slept. His boys. A son of the past and a son of the present. They were both asleep. . . Boromir lying on his back, arm falling over the side of the bed, and Gavin curled on his side. Francis could see them both, though not clearly, by the small light in the corner of the room, put there in case they needed to get up to go to the bathroom in the night. Guided only by that light, Francis moved first to Gavin's side to tuck the blankets around him more securely, then to Boromir's side to make him more comfortable.

Thirty thousand years since he had touched his first born, since he saw his smile, heard his laughter. Thirty thousand years since he had denied his child. He caressed the soft, pale hair back from Boromir's forehead, murmuring, "I did so terribly wrong by you both, my dear boy. So terribly wrong. But I'll get it right this time, Boromir. This time, you won't be forced to take so much upon your admittedly-broad shoulders. This time, you won't be alone."

There would be time enough to make things right. Never again would a child of his feel unloved. For now, he needed his rest. . .he wasn't a young man any more, after all. He stroked Boromir's hair one last time, turned to glance at Gavin, whom he had once dismissed so scornfully. . .and then Francis Rafferty, once known as Denethor, son of Ecthelion, left the room where his boys slept.

Fin

**Additional Cast**

Bronwyn Harris: Robin Christopher

Boadicca (Pelagia's sister): Helen Shaver

Valkyrie (Pelagia's sister): Emilie de Ravin

James Norrington/Jamie Norris: Jack Davenport

Gabriel Wainwright: Brad Dourif

Damaris: Holly Marie Coombs

Callum Watkins: Josh Holloway

David Watkins: Michael Emerson

Officer Logan Garvey: Matthew Goode (thanks again, Cath!)

Madelyn Garvey: Beth Riesgraf

Lucius Wellington: Christopher Lee

Jason Wellington: Richard Armitage

Natalie Wellington: Kali Rodriguez

**Reincarnations revealed as of the end of _Champions: A Whole New World _**

Gavin Rafferty/Aragorn

Bronwyn Harris/Arwen

Dr. Ronan Daly/Gimli

Francis Rafferty/Denethor, Steward of Gondor

Gabriel Wainwright/Grima Wormtongue

Dr. Lucius Wellington: Saruman

Brendan Farrell/Frodo Baggins


End file.
